


Knight and Mage

by strikedawn



Series: Knight and Mage AU [1]
Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Fluff, Knight!Sorey, M/M, Mage!Mikleo, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2018-09-27 08:36:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 131,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9986051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikedawn/pseuds/strikedawn
Summary: The Kingdom of Glenwood has been at war for as long as anyone can remember. The Knights -- valiant men and women -- take their weapons to fight against Kuba Empire, their bravery and strength an inspiration for many songs.Behind them stand the Mages, beings of immense power able to guide the knights towards victory... But magic always comes with a price.In a world where every touch is a sin and every shared wish means treason, a Knight and a Mage find themselves drawn to each other.If only things were so simple.--K&M AU in which childhood best friends Sorey and Mikleo fight to stay together... Sometimes even against themselves.





	1. Part 1 - Prologue: Never trust the legends.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! Thank you for clicking and checking this story out! My name's Blue and this is a collab with the amazing @defragmentise! We've been working on this for some time now, and I'm very excited to finally share it with all of you! Please make sure to check the tags from time to time because there will be changes as the story goes on!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy your reading! <3<3

The legends said emissaries from the Academy traveled in groups of four. They said you could hear the hooves of their horses hitting the ground from miles away, the sound more fitting for an army at gallop than such a small retinue. It was said that flowers bloomed when mages came through, that rain fell to quench the thirst of the earth, that their beauty and benevolence blessed the people, curing diseases and making blemishes vanish.

Mikleo should have known better than to trust the legends.

When the emissaries came for him, he only saw them because he was looking out the window, towards the never-ending barren land that surrounded his village. There was no blessed rain, no sound of armies coming his way, and definitely no impossible miracles. There were four horses, yes, but only three riders: two at the front, dressed in knight’s armor, and a third at the back, what seemed to be a mask covering their face and a long, bronze tunic draped over their body. The fourth horse ran rider-less, tied to the reins of one of the knights.

At least the legends had been right about the colors. The knights rode dark brown horses, muscled and fast. The mage rode a black mare, sculpted with elegant lines and flaring nostrils. And of course the last one, a horse of the purest of whites, purer than snow, young and swift like the wind, its mane gently braided with stones and colorful pebbles that shone under the sunlight.

Mikleo pressed his tiny hands against the glass, his heart beating wild.

“Mom!” He shouted, but there was no need. His mother had been looking over his head towards the riders, growing paler by the second. Mikleo turned to look at her, not knowing exactly how to feel… But the moment his eyes registered the terror and determination in his mother’s features, Mikleo felt fear coiling low in his stomach.

“Stay in here.” She ordered him, already turning around. “Whatever happens, don’t go outside, alright?”

“Wait, mom!”

But she was already out of the house, running in the direction of the village. Mikleo turned his gaze towards the quickly approaching riders, his fingers clinging to the windowsill.

He knew they were coming for him. That much was obvious.

What he didn’t know, however, was what would happen next.

From his window, he saw the riders take the path towards the village. He hid down as they rode by, not even breathing, but the riders didn’t spare a look in his direction. He sighed as they disappeared from view, relaxing for the first time since he had caught sight of the riders.

And then the door of his home bursted open.

“Mikleo!”

Mikleo jumped from the chair he had been standing on, eyes open wide. “Uncle Michael!”

Michael ran into the house with Muse —Mikleo’s mother— close behind. The man came to kneel before Mikleo as the woman ran further into the house, the sounds of her moving around quickly reaching them.

“Uncle Michael, the emissaries…”

“I know,” Michael interrupted him, taking a hold of his tiny hands in his. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to let them take you away.”

“How?” Mikleo’s voice was more curious than scared. “How are you going to do that?”

Letting Mikleo’s hands go, Michael rose to his feet, looking down at him with all the seriousness of his violet eyes. “We’re leaving. Your mother is packing everything we need, but if there’s something you want to take with you she doesn’t know of, you better go grab it quickly.”

Mikleo stared up at his uncle with big eyes. “Leaving? We can’t leave! This is our home! And the village needs you, uncle! And I—“

“None of that matters.” Michael shook his head, the ends of his hair brushing softly against his shoulders. “I’m not letting the Academy take you from us. We’re leaving, Mikleo.”

“But—!”

“Mikleo,” Muse came into the room then, calling her son’s name softly. In her hands she carried two bags, one big enough to carry the things of two adults, and another one, smaller, on the other hand. Mikleo’s. “It’s okay. We’re not going to let them take you.” She walked until she was in front of Mikleo and lowered herself to the ground, taking the spot Michael had previously occupied. She handed her son his bag, which he promptly crushed to his chest.

One look into his mother’s eyes —the same color as Michael’s —erased all the will to fight that had resided in Mikleo until then.

“Okay.” Mikleo muttered, lowering his eyes. There were tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

“Come on,” Michael said then, taking the other two bags from her sister and rushing them towards the door. “Muse, hold on to Mikleo. We’ll run until we’re far away enough from the village, alright?”

In lieu of an answer, Muse grabbed her son’s hand and clung to it tightly.

He swallowed. _I wish—_

But Mikleo quickly stopped himself and lowered his head, clinging back to his mother when she started moving.

They didn’t get far.

Mikleo was starting to feel pain at his side from trying to keep up with his mother’s running when a dark horse cut their path. Both Muse and Michael stopped so abruptly that Mikleo ran into her mother’s back, clinging to her skirt so as not to fall to the ground. The hooves of the horse had lifted a cloud of dust, and Mikleo closed his eyes at it, trying to mitigate his pants. His mouth was dry and his throat felt raw, but still he forced himself not to make a sound.

When the dust settled, he opened his eyes to look at the knight. It was a woman, young, around Muse’s age, with thick dark hair that fell from a ponytail over her shoulder. Her features were hard, and his lips were set into a thin line, but she was still beautiful, like the avenging angels in the priest’s stories.

Mikleo clung to his mother tighter, hiding himself in the small of her back.

“Let us through,” Michael’s voice rang clear and strong, unafraid, even when Mikleo could see how tightly he was gripping the lapels of their bag.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” The knight said in a suave but authoritative voice. “The Academy has business with you, Chief Michael.”

“I doubt there is anything in my village that could be of the Academy’s concern.” Michael replied. “There are no mages amongst our people; there haven’t been in generations—“

“Save your lies, Chief.” Another voice said, accompanied by the soft sound of the horses’ walking. They all —except Mikleo— turned around to watch the other two riders approaching, still on their mounts but walking at a leisured pace. The one who had spoken was the mage atop the black horse, their voice muffled by the bronze, clay mask that covered their face. “You think I cannot see the magic swirling in your child’s eyes? How the colors of it mingle with the purple that is his own? Though I must admit, you have taught him well: he has not met our eyes once since Maltran cut your path.”

Mikleo startled. It was true, he had been following what his uncle had told him millions of times: ‘don’t let any outsider see your eyes, don’t look back at them, ever’. But it had been hard to do so, when his heart had been pumping erratically and he couldn’t think straight. Mikleo risked a glance at the mage now that he had already been discovered, and found that unsettling mask turned towards him. It was black with a strange mark over it in bronze, the same shade than the tunic.

Michael gave two steps forward to put himself between Mikleo and the mage. “How did you find us?”

He knew better than to deny the magic in Mikleo’s eyes. It would only have made them lose precious time.

“Magic calls to magic.” The mage explain, moving their horse forward. “The child has been using his magic, beckoning us to him.” The mage pointed a slender hand towards Mikleo. “Even now, when we arrived to the village, he guided us to him.” The mage made a pause, and Mikleo thought he saw a swirl of color through the barely visible splits in the mask for the eyes. “He made a wish.”

Michael turned towards Mikleo, and the pain and betrayal he saw in his uncle’s face made Mikleo’s chest heave. “Mikleo.”

“I—I’m sorry!” Mikleo shouted, looking from behind his mother only at his uncle. “I didn’t know! I didn’t mean to!”

“And that is why you must come with us.” The mage said. “You will be taught at the Academy how to control your magic, and how to turn your wishes into meaningful prayers. We will not let your magic waste away like it is now.”

“I won’t allow it!” Michael shouted, turning simply violet eyes—human eyes— towards the mage. “I won’t let you tie his magic down like that. He should be free to do what he wants—!”

“Like _you_ have let him be free?” The knight, Maltran, added. There was disdain in her voice. “You made the child apologize for using what is only natural to him. Talk about tying him down.”

Against his mother’s back, Mikleo shivered. He was feeling awful because, for the first time in his life, he found himself agreeing with someone else against his uncle. He had been forced by his uncle not to use his magic all his life, the orders always followed of bitter mutterings against the Academy. But, how was Mikleo supposed to control it when he didn’t even know how?

A soft hand touched Mikleo’s head lightly, and he raised his chin to find his mother looking down at him with sad, but loving eyes.

Mikleo pulled himself closer to her.

“We are aware of the rumors about the Academy floating around the continent.” The mage continued, voice more gentle now. “But they are all false. Our only interest is to help young Mikleo to control his magic, to stop it from becoming a danger for himself. A mage without proper training is nothing but a trap waiting to be activated.”

“We can take care of him.” Michael said in between his teeth. “We don’t need the Academy for that.”

“ _You_ do not.” The mage clarified. “He does.”

Mikleo’s fingers were hurting from how tightly he was gripping his mother’s skirt. Muse’s hand was still on his head, softly playing with his hair the way he liked to calm him down, but it was useless. There were mixed feelings in Mikleo’s heart, going by so fast that he couldn’t understand them.

He just wanted this to be over so bad…

The mage’s head snapped towards him. “Calm down, boy.” The mage told him, voice hard.

Mikleo trembled. He knew the mage could feel his wish in the air, but he didn’t know how to stop it.

His mother’s hand moved from his hair to his back, soothingly drawing circles on it. That helped somewhat.

“We do not have much time.” The mage said, looking at Michael this time. “The child can barely hold his magic in as he is. He is very young, but the amount of magic in him is already incredible. He will only bring disgrace to this place if you let him like this.”

Michael ground his teeth, fists firmly pressed against his sides. “How dare you—!”

“You will be compensated, of course.” The mage continued as if Michael hadn’t spoken, voice controlled. “Even if having your child being trained by the Academy should be compensation enough, we are willing to give you something else for any… trouble.”

That was such a surprise that Michael’s fists fell open, his hands slack. Even Mikleo’s mother jumped slightly, her hand pausing its movements on Mikleo’s back.

“What…?”

With a signal from the mage’s head, the second knight jumped off his horse and walked towards Michael, his armor tingling softly and shining under the sun. The knight was a young man, but muscled and tall, taller even than Michael. He towered over him as he came to stand in front of Michael, his features serious but not unkind.

The knight extended a hand for Michael to see the velvety bag in his palm. It chimed with the telltale sound of coins colliding against each other.

No one said a word. Michael’s face was fixated on the bag, so full of gold that it looked plump, barely held together by a thin thread at the top. And Mikleo understood; he understood the expression that had taken residence in his uncle’s face upon the sight of the money, understood why he was looking so troubled, when he had been furious not a second ago.

How many times, after all, had Michael lamented not having the money necessary to help the people of the village? How many times had he gone to sleep late because he had kept himself up looking for ways to make the village prosper again with the little money the villagers had? It had always been a stone on his uncle’s back, the fact that he had so many people that depended on him as the chief of Camlann, and he could do nothing to help them.

And now the answer to all of his troubles was there, in the palm of a knight, in the shape of a small bag.

Mikleo didn’t blame his uncle for hesitating.

“I won’t take it.” Michael said in the end, giving a small step back. “I won’t—“

“Uncle Michael.”

Mikleo’s voice sounded so sure and strong, that everyone turned to look at him. However, he didn’t take his eyes away from Michael’s, who looked back at him with such sorrow in his eyes that Mikleo felt his heart clench painfully.

“Mikleo—“

“I want to go.”

Muse made a sound, but Mikleo didn’t let himself turn towards her. He knew he would falter if he did, so he kept his eyes on his uncle, trying to hide the trembles of his hands.

“Mikleo,” Michael started again.” You don’t have to…”

“That money will help the village, won’t it?” Mikleo spoke over his uncle’s voice, forcing himself to stop shaking. “You will be able to buy the grain to sow the land, and buy medicine for the people at the shrine, isn’t that right? You might even be able to fix the hole in our roof with it, and buy mom one of those pretty dresses Lady Malene does.”

Muse choked on a sob, reaching to grab Mikleo’s arm. But Mikleo stepped closer to his uncle before she could, still with his eyes on him.

“You don’t—“ Michael shook his head. “You’re just a child. You shouldn’t worry about these things. I won’t let you load yourself with this kind of…”

“But I do worry.” Mikleo muttered. He inhaled deeply and turned towards the mage, angling his chin up to look at them, fighting off the uneasy feeling that that mask produced on him. “If you promise to give my uncle that money, I’ll leave right now.”

“That money is your uncle’s already.” The mage said. “He just has to take it.”

Mikleo nodded. “I want to go to the Academy.” He said, the eyes that showed the colors of his magic to the world free of any doubt.

The mage nodded. His voice was solemn when he said: “The Academy welcomes you, Mikleo.”

Many things happened at the same time, but Mikleo was already being pulled aside by the second knight. He was vaguely aware of the knight named Maltran keeping Muse and Michael away as the second knight took him a little further away, his hand gentle on Mikleo’s shoulder. He heard his mother’s voice calling for him, and the tingling of coins being rustled, but other than that he could only concentrate on his feet as he tried to match the knight’s wide stride.

Finally, the knight stopped and crouched down in front of Mikleo. He had dark hair and strong features, but his eyes as he looked at Mikleo were very, very kind. Mikleo couldn’t muster the will to be afraid of him.

“Hello,” The knight said, as if they hadn’t been standing in the same place for a while now. “What’s your name?”

Mikleo knew the knight already had the answer to that question. But it was nice being asked anyway; the mage had picked his name up from his uncle at some point, and he’d be lying if he said that hadn’t unsettled him before. So he let his shoulders sag and met the knight’s eyes for the first time.

It was strange to have a stranger meet his eyes and not have them recoiling in fear. He knew what his eyes looked like, knew the fear the kaleidoscope of colors ignited in people. But the knight was clearly used to it; he didn’t even blink at them.

“Mikleo.” Mikleo replied finally, holding his hands together in front of himself.

The knight nodded. “Nice to meet you, Mikleo. My name is Sergei. I’m a knight of Glenwood kingdom. I’ve come to make sure you are safe during your ride to the Academy. You have nothing to be scared of.”

Mikleo let his eyes slide to the side, to where he could still see his mother and uncle trying to do something, though he didn’t know what. “Will my mom and uncle be okay?” He asked, voice soft.

Sergei made an affirmative noise. “They will miss you at first, of course, but they will realize they’ve made the right choice later.”

That wasn’t what Mikleo had intended to ask, and by the tone in the knight’s voice, he knew it too. But Mikleo let it pass, knowing he wouldn’t get a real answer anyway. He moved his eyes once again towards Sergei, who smiled kindly at him.

“We should start our way back soon.” He said, raising to his feet. “Would you like me to show you your horse?”

“I’ll be riding on my own?”

“Yes. Come with me.”

So they had been completely prepared to take Mikleo back with them. They had bought someone to take care of him, even a horse just for him. It was as if there was no way they wouldn’t be bringing Mikleo back to that place.

Mikleo shivered, not wanting to think about what would have happened if they had kept refusing the mage’s offer.

The knight took him to the white horse, that had been peacefully standing next to one of the brown ones until now. It was even more beautiful up close, completely white from the ears to its hooves, the soft braids jumping against the lithe neck as the horse lifted his head to look at him. Even the equipment was beautiful, the reins woven with golden threads and the saddle so comfortable looking, Mikleo could imagine falling asleep on top of it. The leather was of a creamy color, complementing the horse’s pure looks.

Mikleo raised a hand to touch the horse’s muzzle. He was still shaking.

“Do you need help to get—?“

“No!!”

The shout came from afar, from the direction of the village. The small group turned around to see a small figure running on the path towards them, as fast as its tiny legs let him. It was a boy, of the same age as Mikleo, that kept screaming ‘no’ at the top of his lungs as if his life depended on it. No one was following him, and he didn’t slow down when he started to draw nearer.

He collided against Mikleo and the both of them went down, arms tight around each other.

Sergei frowned, but did nothing to separate the children. “What—?”

“You can’t take Mikleo away!” The newcomer screamed, voice raw. His tiny face was scrunched by determination and anger, eyebrows furrowed over green eyes. “I won’t let you!”

“Sorey, it’s okay…” Mikleo started to say, voice muffled against the other child’s shoulder, but the kid named Sorey continued shouting over Mikleo’s words.

“Mikleo has to stay! He has to stay with his family!”

“He has a new family now.” The mage said, still from his horse. “The Congregation of Mages will be his family from the moment he steps into the Academy.”

Sorey turned towards the sound of the mage’s voice, words ready to be fired from his mouth— but they all died the moment Sorey’s eyes fell on the mask the mage wore. His eyes opened with terror and all color drained from his face. Still, he angled his body so he sat between the mage and Mikleo, his back to the latter, arms a bit extended as if he was making of himself a barrier.

Mikleo put his hands on Sorey’s scrawny shoulders and angled his head to whisper in Sorey’s ear. “It’s okay.” He said with a security he did not possess. “He’s a mage.”

“Like you?” Sorey whispered back, not taking his big eyes from the mage’s mask.

“Yeah.”

At that, Sorey relaxed somewhat, but didn’t move his body from in front of Mikleo. They were still siting on the ground, there where Sorey’s tackle had left them.

“I’m not going to let you take Mikleo.” Sorey told the mage, his eyes fierce through the fear.

“You have no say in this.” The mage said calmly. “Mikleo has already made this choice, and he is coming with us.”

Sorey turned his head to look at Mikleo, who didn’t meet his gaze. “What!?”

“I… I want to learn how to control my magic…”

“You’re alright as you are!” Sorey exclaimed. “You don’t need to leave for that, we’ll find a way—“

“Sorey, they gave uncle Michael money.” Mikleo said simply, and Sorey closed his mouth, suddenly speechless. “A lot of money. Just to let me go.”

“…Really?” Sorey asked. It seemed he understood, just like Mikleo, just like Michael, how important money was for their village.

Mikleo nodded, still not looking at Sorey. “Mm.”

They sat in silence after that, and the adults let them. The faint voices of Maltran and Michael reached them, but they couldn’t know what they were saying.

Mikleo had a hand fisted in the fabric of Sorey’s shirt. Sorey was a scrawny kid, so the shirt was too big on him, and it slipped a bit off his shoulder on the side Mikleo was gripping. His clothes were battered, and there was dirt clinging to it. There was even a streak of dirt darkening the skin of Sorey’s right cheek, and dust of his hair. Matching feather earrings hung from his ears, their rich yellow color the brightest thing in him. No, that wasn’t right. The brightest thing in him were his eyes: green and so luminous someone could have mistaken them for the eyes of a young mage. But there was no trace of magic in him, that much was obvious. He was simply a child of outdoors, with sun-kissed skin and traces of laughter around his mouth.

He was just a kid asking not to be separated from his friend.

Suddenly Mikleo gasped, his eyes casted down. He had discovered a little cut on Sorey’s knee, not too deep but big enough for it to stain the fabric of his pants with red blood. Mikleo brushed his fingers over it, making Sorey whimper and his fingers get coated in red.

And then, in the next blink, the cut was gone. Just like that.

Neither child reacted to it, but Sergei inhaled sharply. The mage willed his horse closer, leaning down over its side to look directly at Mikleo, who felt the weight of his gaze even through the mask.

“Were you intending on doing that?”

Mikleo hesitated, but finally nodded, not seeing any reason to lie. “I don’t like seeing Sorey hurt.”

Sorey said nothing, but his hand gripped Mikleo’s shirt too, so tight his tiny knuckles went white.

“It is impressive.” The mage said, and for the first time Mikleo believed he heard something strange on the mage’s voice. He didn’t know it, but it was jealousy. “You should not be able to do that without proper training.”

“See!?” Sorey suddenly shouted. “He doesn’t need to go away to train, he’s fine!”

“He is not.” The mage replied. “He could end up hurting instead of healing you, one day. You need something more than intention to control a wish.”

For a moment, it seemed Sorey was going to fight again, but he thought better. Mikleo saw his expression, and knew his friend was organizing his ideas, trying to put into words whatever it was he was feeling.

In the end, he said: “If Mikleo’s leaving, I’m going too.”

Mikleo’s breath hitched. He hadn’t expected that, not at all. Sorey _loved_ Camlann. He loved everyone in it, loved exploring the ruins that laid just beyond the outskirts of the village. Of course, they had talked of leaving someday, to explore the world, to learn the things you couldn’t learn in books. But that had been plans for the future, in many, many years. Mikleo’s heart was beating so fast he was feeling dizzy.

“You cannot.” The mage said, and Mikleo felt his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. “You are not a mage. There is no place for you in the Academy.”

“Still, I’ll go!” Sorey shouted. “I’ll follow you if I have to, but I won’t let Mikleo go alone.”

The mage made a sound with the back of his throat, and the air crackled around him. “Insolent child—“

“Lord Emil,” Sergei intervened, speaking to the mage. The mage turned towards him sharply, and the knight raised a placating hand towards him. “If I may?”

The mage turned away, irritated. “Do whatever you want, but make it quick. We do not have all day.”

The knight nodded and walked to kneel in front of the children. Sorey moved to cover Mikleo again, but a single tightening of Mikleo’s hand on his shoulder made him stop, his guarded gaze turning curious.

“Your name is Sorey, isn’t it?” Sergei asked, making sure his eyes were on level with Sorey’s before speaking. Sorey simply nodded. “Are you a friend of Mikleo’s?”

“He’s my best friend.” Sorey said, the same way someone would say the sky was blue or the mountains high. “And I’m his.”

Sergei nodded. His eyes were as kind as they had been when he had spoken to Mikleo alone. “That means you care about Mikleo a lot, don’t you? You want what’s best for him?”

“Of course!”

“Then you have to understand that the Academy is the best place for someone like Mikleo. He has to learn how to control his magic.”

“But…” Sorey’s hand tightened on Mikleo’s shirt, and so did Mikleo’s. “I don’t want him to be alone. I want to go with him.”

“I already said you cannot.” The mage intervened. “You have no magic power—“

“There is another way.” Sergei said, with a bit of a strain in his voice. He continued talking to Sorey. “If you really want this, you could always join the Platinum Knights. You’d have to train and study, the same way Mikleo will with the mages, but we’d be happy to have you with us.”

“Are you out of your mind!?” The mage shouted. “He is nothing more than a feeble child!”

“I was only a couple of years older than they are when I enrolled.” Sergei shrugged. “And you have seen him. He is fast, he is strong, he is determined. But more importantly, Lord Emil, you have seen how easily Mikleo’s magic works on him. That is not something you see everyday. I am sure you know that better than I do.”

Behind his mask, Mikleo was sure the mage was frowning. “This is not a recruitment expedition, Captain Strelka. We are here for the mage child—“

“With all due respect, Lord Emil—“ Sergei spoke, voice hard “—, the same way I do not mingle with the Congregation’s affairs, you should not mingle with the ones of the Platinum Knights. If Sorey is willing, i will take him back to Pendrago with me.”

The mage growled. But he quickly recovered, regaining his detached facade from before. “Do what you may, Strelka. But let us leave already. A storm is coming.”

The mage turned his horse around and walked away. Sergei, however, turned towards the children once again, only to find them with big, shiny eyes.

“Can I really?” Sorey quickly asked. “Can I be a knight?”

Sergei nodded. “If that’s your wish.”

“And I’ll be able to be with Mikleo?”

At that, Sergei hesitated. “Not always.” He said finally. “But yes.”

Sorey nodded, his face too serious for a child that young. “Then I’ll go with you.”

Mikleo quickly interjected after his friend’s declaration. “Sorey, wait, you can’t—!”

But Sorey made him stop with a single look. “I’m going too, Mikleo.”

They shared a deep look, too deep for children so young. No words were exchanged at first, but they had never needed them. They had always understood each other with little to no words, so Mikleo read everything he needed to know in Sorey’s eyes.

“Okay.” He said after a moment, but it sounded like ‘thank you’.

“Come on,” Sergei urged them on, helping them to their feet. “Let’s not make Lord Emil wait anymore. You’ll ride with me, Sorey.”

Sergei helped Mikleo onto the white horse, not asking again if he needed help, but taking him in his hands and pulling him up. Mikleo swayed, not used to being that high or holding his equilibrium with his legs open like that.

“Hold on to here.” Sergei said, and guided Mikleo’s hands to the front of the saddle, where they gripped the leather tightly. “Don’t worry about anything else because I’ll be steering the horse, alright? Just worry about holding on tight.”

Mikleo nodded. But, as Sergei moved towards his own horse with Sorey, another thought filled Mikleo’s mind. “Hold on, I want—“

He twisted his body on top of the horse to look behind him, where Muse and Michael still were. He had wanted to say goodbye, to give them one last hug, but he stopped short when his eyes fell on them. Muse was crying in her brother’s arms, strong sobs shaking her whole body even though Michael was holding her tightly. Michael was looking towards Mikleo with a pained expression… But the moment their eyes met, Michael looked away in shame, not able to hold his nephew’s gaze for long.

Mikleo looked in front of him once again. He didn’t want to say goodbye anymore.

“Mikleo.” Sorey said. When Mikleo looked he found Sorey on top of the brown horse next to him, no Sergei in sight, hand extended towards him. Mikleo leaned forward to grab it, and their hands hung in the space between their bodies as they clung tightly to each other.

“What about your mom?” Mikleo asked in a whisper. He felt as if he spoke any louder he would cry, so he didn’t.

Sorey moved his gaze towards the village, so Mikleo couldn’t see his face when he said. “She’ll understand.”

Mikleo said nothing, but squeezed Sorey’s hand. A second later, Sorey returned the squeeze.

They parted soon after, Sergei riding behind Sorey on the saddle, Mikleo next to them on his own horse. He could feel the mage’s gaze on the back of his head the whole time, and Maltran’s curious one on the back of Sorey’s, but he paid them no mind.

He was scared, confused and hurt. But Sorey’s hand was still in his, and that was the most important thing.

As long as Sorey was with him, Mikleo could do anything.


	2. Chapter 1: We, the protectors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!! I'm... you guys have amazed me with all the love and support the prologue got, I'm SO SO HAPPY YOU GUYS LIKED IT AND ENJOYED IT!!! Thank you so, so much for all the kudos, comments, subscriptions... I LOVE YOU ALL! <3<3<3
> 
> Here's the actual first chapter of Knight and Mage! I hope you all enjoy it. Happy reading! <3<3

 

 

**_Oath of the Platinum Knights_ **

_Hereby and forevermore, I pledge my body to the kingdom._

_Let my flesh be a shield_

_And my blood a promise._

_Let my courage be a weapon_

_And my heart the strength behind it._

_However, if I were to die_

_Let it be fulfilling my duty._

_For I was born a man_

_But now and forevermore_

_I shall be_

_A knight._

 

 

**_Years later…_ **

Everything around Sorey was chaos.

Still, there was order in that chaos. Sorey could see it without looking, saw the way swords fell in their attacks, the arcs they would trace in the air; he saw the colors of the Platinum Knights against those of the enemies, the colors not blending but clashing against each other, only becoming the same when blood coated the fabrics.

Battles were messy in theory, literal pandemoniums, and they could bring the strongest of men to their knees as they begged for a second of rest. But it was different for Sorey. The power surging through his veins —a borrowed power, not his to use nor control — made everything around him slow down. Or maybe it was him speeding up, slashing through his enemies with a swiftness and finesse more typical of a feline than a knight weighted down by his battle gear. Sorey saw action and intention, saw the way a sword would cut through the air before the hands holding it had started to move.

His own hands moved before he realized it. His sword cut into the path of an enemy sword then, the metallic sound the blades made upon contact making Sorey wince. He only had time to settle his feet more securely over the bloody, slippery ground before the enemy knight was attacking again, a cry escaping his lips as he let his sword fall once again.

With a cry of his own, Sorey struck back. He had been fighting for hours, but he wasn’t tired at all. The thick fabric that he wore around his head was damp with the sweat from his forehead, the amulet that hung from it hitting his cheek with the softness of a tender caressas he moved. It wasn’t the feather he usually hung from there but a blue stone, warm to the touch despite the cold temperature.

Sorey saw it flash under the lights of dawn as his sword went through his opponent’s abdomen and warm blood coated his knuckles.

The enemy knight opened his mouth. He was older than Sorey and probably more experienced, but that hadn’t mattered. A red thread of blood went down his chin from the corner of his mouth, darkening the fair hairs of his beard as Sorey pulled the sword out from his stomach.

He didn’t stay to hear the man’s last words. He wouldn’t have understood them, anyway. Kuba Empire had a totally different language, a totally different culture.

Still, he prayed under his breath for the knight’s soul, feeling his blood dampen the hem of his sleeve.

There was no time for anything more, though. From the corner of his eye, Sorey saw Boris going through a hard time fighting against another knight, his thick eyebrows furrowed under a headband that matched Sorey’s. They both had fallen behind during their retreat at some point, finding each other alone amidst a small group of enemy knights thirsty for their blood. Boris’ opponent was strong, swift as the wind, her blond hair shining silver under the first rays of sunlight. He saw Boris get distracted by it, probably mistaking it for the glare of another blade… And saw the enemy’s grin as she moved to drive her sword through Boris’ body.

Sorey was there before she could do it. He took the blow with his own sword, grunting at the strength behind it, so unexpected in someone so lithe. Sorey pushed against her, watching as her eyes widened in surprise… As if she hadn’t expected Sorey to be strong enough to win against her. In the blink of an eye, twisting his body to gain momentum and speed Sorey ended her, his own sword tracing a half moon in the air and cutting the knight’s throat open.

Her pretty blond hair turned black with blood, just as the older man’s beard had, and Sorey gripped the hilt of his sword tighter. A second later, she fell to the ground, lifeless.

“Thanks.” Boris wheezed, letting his big hand fall on Sorey’s shoulder. “I would have been done for without you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sorey’s eyes moved from Boris’ tired face to his side, where red was blooming against the white folds of his gear. Sorey paled; it looked very bad. “You—“

“I’ll be fine.” Boris said, shaking his head. And then he smirked, lips parting in a way that was as familiar to Sorey as the back of his own hand, pointing at Sorey’s face with his square chin. “You’re gonna be so screwed when we get back, though.”

Sorey winced again, knowing his friend was right. He could no longer feel the blue stone against his cheek; if he looked down, he’d probably see tiny bits of blue burning softly between his feet. Sorey sighed and let the tip of his sword brush the ground.

“I know—“

Sorey heard rather than saw the arrow flying towards them. He let his instincts take over almost instantly, pushing Boris down with the strength of his fear and away from the path of danger—

Magic wasn’t invincible. The borrowed magic in him was an extra aid, a gift that had been bestowed on him out of kindness and affection, but nothing more. So, when the arrow went through his side, tearing skin and muscle apart, piercing his organs with a single strike, Sorey gasped the little air that remained in his lungs, looking into Boris’ horrified face while trying to understand.

When he fell to his knees, Sorey’s hand went to his own wound, right where the feathered part of the arrow sprouted out of him. His fingers came away red. He could feel his abdomen burning as he tried to keep his breathing under control, but he felt his chest heavy, unmoving, every intake of breath harder to obtain than the last. And he understood.

_Poison._

Blue fire dyed the backs of his eyelids, and peace filled him. It was strange to feel like that in such a moment, but his body welcomed it almost aggressively. It felt so much like home that a stray tear rolled from the corner of Sorey’s eye.

And then all the blessed amulets that he kept in the folds of his gear started to burn softly, cracking and becoming dust as they rolled onto the ground: a copper coin, a blue and green stone, the plucked feathers of a falcon. All of them burned softly, silently, getting destroyed without salvation.

Sorey watched the magical flames consume his precious amulets, and sighed.

_He’s going to kill me,_ Sorey thought.

The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was Boris’ desperate face, his lips screaming at him to hold on soundlessly… And a golden bird flying over his head, soaring high through the early morning sky.

 

* * *

 

He woke up what seemed to be days later in a familiar room of wooden floors and stone ceilings. It smelt like burnt skin and alcohol around, but he had landed in that roomso many times over the years that he was kind of used to it. Sorey simply scrunched his nose as he closed his eyes again instead of fighting against it, letting a long sigh escape from his lips.

The infirmary of the Tower wasn’t a place you wanted to find yourself in, but it was one in which every knight in the Platinum Knights ended up at some point. It was hard not to — even knights in training often found themselves in the infirmary with a broken bone or a bleeding part of their body. The place reeked of anger and pain, a smell that had nothing to do with the disgusting unguents that were used to prevent infections, or with the corporal odors of sick bodies. Some of the knights even said you went out of the infirmary in worse shape than when you first go in, the place wrecking your mind and tiring your body more than a full training session.

Sorey kind of agreed with them.

But he couldn’t do anything about it in that moment. When Sorey looked down —someone had propped his bed up so he was almost sitting rather than laying down — he saw a tight bandage wrapped around his abdomen, a small red rose of blood blooming right over the place where Sorey could feel his skin burning, pumping. He tried to touch it, because of course he did, and the moment his fingers touched the bandage he sucked in a breath, surprised at the intensity of his own pain.

Sorey swallowed hard and let his head fall back against the pillow.

“I see you’re awake.” A voice said. Sorey turned his head in time to see Boris moving the curtain that separated his bed from the next enough to step into the small space, the corners of his mouth pushed down in fake annoyance. But it had been a long time since Boris had been able to fool Sorey. “Finally. You took one hell of a nap.”

“How long—?” Sorey started, but his mouth felt like sandpaper. He swallowed thickly, mitigating a cough that tried to climb up his throat. Even so, the movement made his wound throb once again.

Boris was by his side in a second, handling him a glass of water—that Amenoch knew where he had gotten from—as he inspected Sorey’s bandage.

“Shit,” Boris muttered. “It’s bleeding again.”

“Was it that bad?” Sorey asked after a few sips of water. He felt a bit better now, but his side still throbbed painfully.

Boris hesitated, just for a second, but Sorey still caught it. “Nah. But by the time we brought you here your gear was as red as Mason’s hair. Speaking of which—“ Boris moved a chair closer to Sorey’s bed, sitting down on it backwards and crossing his muscled arms over the top of the back. “Mase owes me money. He said you wouldn’t last the night. You actually slept through three.”

“Mason wouldn’t bet against me.” Sorey replied with a smile. Then what Boris had said dawned on him, and Sorey felt himself go pale. “Wait, I’ve been unconscious for three days!?”

“Yup.” Boris scratched under the headband on top of his head, a clean, probably new one. “I already had called dibs on your cot. I still think yours is the most comfortable one—“

“Are the others okay?” Sorey croaked, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets that pooled around his waist. “Did anyone else get hurt?”

Boris shook his head, with the teasing of a smirk in the corners of his mouth. “Only you, _duckling_. You’ve had the whole barrack worried sick this whole time.”

With a soft sigh, Sorey let his eyes fall closed, his heart calming down. “I’m so glad everyone’s okay…” He said with a small laugh. “But… what happened?”

Boris lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?” Sorey shook his head. He remembered bits —his amulets burning ( _Oh, Musiphe, save me),_ the silver hair of the woman knight, the cold ground beneath his knees— and then. Darkness. “You saved me, Sorey.” Boris said gravely, pale green eyes dark despite the sunlight that filtered in the room. “You battled my enemy and took an arrow that should have pierced through my chest.” Leaning forward, Boris grabbed Sorey’s wrist, tight, and Sorey wished he wasn’t feeling so heavy so he could have grabbed Boris’ back. “I would be dead now if it wasn’t for you.”

Sorey laughed lowly. Even that made him wince in pain. “You would have been fine without me.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Boris' features were hard in that moment. It was strange not to see him smiling, or smirking, and the change made Sorey’s heart clench more than his words. “That woman… that _knight_ , she was like nothing I’ve battled before…”

The swish of skirt made Boris close his mouth, both of them turning towards the edge of the curtain. There were no footsteps accompanying the sound, and that made their muscles tense; knights relayed on their senses, so knowing something was coming but not being able to know _what_ always put them on edge, even if it was in their own tower. Another knight would have made themselves heard from miles away. A nobleman would have been announced already. So that only left—

In the next blink of an eye, a mage appeared by the foot of Sorey’s bed.

They seemed to appear out of thin air. One moment Boris and Sorey were alone, and the next they were being observed by the newcomer, their silence making the hairs of Boris’ arms stand on point.

Sorey didn’t have the same reaction. Still, his heart picked up its rhythm for a moment, his breathing catching in his chest— and then relaxed, unable to stop himself from feeling a bit disappointed.

He didn’t know this mage.

Mages dressed in a way that concealed any personal trait. From their heads to their toes, they were covered in soft silks and smooth cottons, the hems adorned with the colors that belonged to their magic level. They usually wore small pieces of jewelry too —but even those they were all the same, none more valuable than the others.

The only thing that distinguished them were their colors. A scale of beautiful colors that ranked them according to their power, pale rose being the lowest, and deep blue the highest. This mage’s color was bronze.

Sorey had been expecting green.

But what creeped most of the knights out —what made Boris stand all tense and as far from the mage as possible— were their masks: hard pieces of ceramic with sinuous lines painted on them that covered their faces completely, of vibrant colors over a dark background. The color in the mask always matched the color of the designs on their clothes. It was hard to look directly at them; the lines seemed to move the longer one stared, and no matter how hard you tried to search for the splits for the eyes, you always ended up too dizzy before you found them.

Mason had said once that they didn’t have splits, that mages learnt very young how to move blindly, because seeing was a distraction for them.

Sorey knew it wasn’t true. He had seen the splits. He was probably the only knight that felt at complete ease next to a mage.

That didn’t mean he didn’t feel the disappointment, though.

Slowly, Boris rose from the chair to his feet, standing by Sorey with his back straight, chin raised and closed fist over his heart. In other circumstances, Sorey would have followed him suit, but that day he simply managed to raise his hand to his heart — and even so he ended up rustling his side, barely catching himself before he gasped out loud.

The mask of the mage turned towards him for a second, just to move to look at them both after a brief inspecting. They clasped their hands before the folds of their _sumari—_ their clothing— and lowered their head in greeting.

“You may address me as ‘Lady’.” The mage said softly. It was custom for a mage entering a room to declare how they preferred to be addressed. Mages rarely offered their name, only when it was strictly necessary.

“My Lady,” Boris and Sorey said at the same time, bowing their heads. Then Boris continued alone, his easygoing tone from before nowhere in sight now. “What is it that you need from your knight?”

The mage didn't move. Under her baggy clothes, she seemed not to be breathing at all. “I have been sent by the Academy to help in any way that we can.” The mage explained, voice muffled by the mask. “I am going through every wounded knight that might need my help.”

“Your help is very much appreciated, my Lady.” Boris nodded. “The Knights thank you for your kindness.”

Stepping closer to the bed, the mage walked around so she stood closer to Sorey’s wound, already inspecting the bloodied bandage. At least, that was what it looked like. It was hard to tell, with the mask. When the mage leant down to look closely at the point where the bandages were held together, Sorey got a glimpse of dark hair through the thick veil on her head.

“I will begin now.” The mage said, speaking without turning towards Boris. “If you could leave us…”

“Of course.” Now that the mage’s mask wasn’t turned towards him, Boris was back to his usual relaxed self. He smirked at Sorey over the mage’s veil, saluting him with two fingers to his forehead and a wink. “I’ll come back for you later, Sorey.”

“Save me some breakfast!” Sorey shouted after him as the curtain fell closed behind Boris.

“Like hell!”

His loud footsteps got fainter and fainter as Boris walked away. Next to him, the mage shook her head silently when she tilted her head towards the place where Boris had disappeared through.

“What is it?” Sorey asked her kindly. He saw her startle and turn quickly towards him, hesitating before shaking her head. “You can speak freely with me, if you want. I don’t mind.”

From between the folds of her _sumari_ , the mage pulled out a pair of thick, dark, leather gloves. She fiddled with them for a moment, not looking at Sorey directly before saying. “I am not used to being around knights. When you do not address us, you are…”

“Loud?” Sorey finished with a smile, laughing softly.

The mage slid her gloves on her hands slowly, thinking. “Yes.”

“Please, don’t worry.” Sorey shook his head. “We bark but we don’t bite.”

No sound came from the mage, but Sorey saw the line of her shoulders go slack, no longer tense. She walked even closer to the bed then, and pointed with a gloved finger towards Sorey’s middle. “I am going to begin now.” She said. Sorey thought that she would have a very nice voice, if it didn’t sound muffled by the mask. “Is that alright?”

Sorey let his head fall back against the bed. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

The mage started to peel away the bandage slowly, careful of not hurting Sorey even more. Sorey only winced when the dry blood stuck to his skin, but stood still otherwise. Even without looking, Sorey knew the mage must have been getting blood on her gloves, but she didn’t seem to mind, nor care.

After a brief pause, the mage prodded at Sorey’s wound, softly but decidedly. Sorey muffled a scream against his pillow.

“It is not infected.” The mage declared with no inflection in her voice.

Sorey ground his teeth together and spoke through them. “Glad to hear that.”

“However, the wound is deep. It might not heal alright on its own.”

Sorey’s heart skipped a beat. He knew what the mage would say next, and he didn’t like it one bit. “I’m sure it will—“

“I will proceed on healing it.”

There was barely any more warning before pain shot up through every nerve of Sorey’s body, burning hotter than fire, extinguishing the air in his lungs and turning his vision white. Sorey screamed, tossing and moving away from the mage unconsciously, but it was already done. The mage’s wish was already having its effect on Sorey’s body, forcing his cells to move and heal, to create new tissue and muscle at a speed that was unnatural.

For the second time in three days Sorey’s world went dark, bright bronze being the last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him.

 

* * *

 

No one remembered anymore how Glenwood Kingdom came to be. Some said Glenwood was born from the ashes of a smaller, weaker country, and that its ruins served to create the strongest of foundations for the actual kingdom.

Others simply said that there wasn’t a time when Glenwood didn’t exist. That the kingdom and its king have been around for as long as time, and that it would continue to be like so forevermore.

Whatever the case was, there were only two truths. The first, that Glenwood needed of its knights and mages to survive. That their strength and wishes made the kingdom prosper and bright, and made their king powerful enough to protect its villagers.

The second truth, was that Glenwood has always been at war.

The lands of Glenwood were tainted with the blood of allies and foes alike. Many a battle had been fought, and thrice as many knights had lost their lives over the centuries for the sake of their kingdom. And while knights fought against their enemies for their king, mages prayed every day and night for the knights’ safety and return, their magic traveling through miles of land to reach their warriors and feeding the amulets they wore with wishes of protection and luck. Together, knights and mages were the two main lines of defense of Glenwood Kingdom; the knights at the front of the battlefield, armed with swords and bows, and the mages right behind at the Academy, using their magic and amulets to shield them from danger as much as possible.

For the last ten years, Sorey had been one of the former. A soldier of Glenwood, a Platinum Knight. He had trained, suffered, _bled_ for the safety of the kingdom, for the safety of its people.

For the safety of Mikleo.

It had been ten years since Sorey followed his childhood friend, Mikleo, out of Camlann, riding on a horse by his side with their hands clasped together in the open space between their bodies. They hadn’t been easy years — Sorey had grown in ways he had never thought possible, after all, and he had done so away from Mikleo. But still, he never regretted it. There had been something he had wanted as a child, and Sorey hadn’t stopped wanting it, not even once. Even now, as he limped back towards his barrack and his cot, he found himself looking out the window towards the Academy—the imposing castle that was the home of the mages . The setting sun made the white stones that formed it shine softly, their glow a nice warm yellow that made Sorey think of warmth.

It wasn’t home, because that was the Tower for Sorey, as well as for any other knight. But inside those white walls there _was_ another home for Sorey. He could feel his presence like a hook caught on his ribcage, pulling at him almost persistently.

It was like Mikleo was calling him from inside.

However, Sorey knew that wasn’t true. It wasn’t Mikleo calling him, but the remains of his borrowed magic calling for its source. That was why the feeling was faint — he had broken his amulets during his battle, but the prayers Mikleo had bestowed upon him and him alone still sang in his veins.

_Soon._ Sorey thought with a smile, taking his eyes away from the Academy. _I’ll see Mikleo soon._

He could hear the voices of the knights —of his brothers—even before he reached the door of his barrack. There was no such thing as privacy in the Tower of Knights; the knights ate together, trained together, showered together. The knights were each others’ brothers and sisters, no matter their lack of blood connection.

At night, they slept in barracks of six knights each. Sorey’s barrack had been the same one since he enrolled, and he couldn’t imagine moving out of it any time soon. All the knights were his family, but the people in his quarters were special. He would die for them, no question.

Though he kind of questioned his own resolve when he opened the door and all of them started to scream at him.

“The duckling is alive!” Mason shouted, throwing his arms into the air. “Long live the duckling!”

“And he has all of his limbs!” Lucas added, his loud laugh echoing against the stone walls. “That we can see at least!”

Both of them were on Sorey in an instant, grabbing him from behind and lifting him up so he sat in one shoulder of each man, only keeping his equilibrium because his friends grabbed his legs with their arms. Sorey held onto the backs of their shirts, gripping them for dear life as he laughed.

“Easy, now.” Kyme said from his own cot, ever the pacifist. He was laying down with a book propped up on his chest, though he wasn’t paying it any attention now. Instead, his eyes were on Sorey and the two doofuses that held him on their shoulders. “You’re gonna make Sorey wish he was back at the Infirmary.”

Sorey winced, scratching at his cheek. His feather earring brushed his knuckles with the movement. “Not really.” Sorey admitted. He had to keep his back curved so as not to hit his head against the ceiling. “I… had to go through the _Hellfire_.”

An empathetic groan escaped from the mouths of Sorey’s mates. ‘Hellfire’ was the name they used to refer to being healed by a mage. It was fitting, of course, because it felt like being burnt from the inside, as if you were in… well, Hell. They all knew what a horrible experience that was, and they couldn’t help but wince and groan the moment Sorey uttered the word.

They were all grateful for the power the blessings and amulets of the mages gave them. But they would also swallow every arrowhead in the armory before going through the Hellfire again.

“You amaze me everyday, duckling.” Lucas said, squeezing Sorey’s shin tightly.

Sorey shrugged, and immediately regretted it. He wasn’t in a position to move around much. “I don’t think I’ve done much—“

“You saved Boris.” Mason said, making Sorey look down at him. “That in itself is a lot. I would have left his sorry ass behind.”

Even though his wound was technically healed now, Sorey still felt a pang of pain on his side when he laughed. “You wouldn’t!”

“I still haven’t forgiven him for the dead rat prank.”

“Oh, come on!” Lucas rolled his eyes, looking at Mason from behind Sorey’s leg. “It was just a sponge!”

“It still gave me a fucking heart attack, okay!?”

Lucas and Mason left Sorey on the ground softly, the former laughing at Mason’s anger, the latter with a grunt. Sorey was younger than both of them, but not exactly smaller, after all.

“Where is he, anyway?” Sorey asked once both his feet were back on the ground. “Boris, I mean.”

“Aww, missed me, duckling?” Boris himself suddenly said, stepping into the barrack. He was prone to dramatics like that, so all of them simply rolled their eyes except Sorey, who groaned softly and smiled. “You’re sweet, but don’t worry. Daddy’s here now.”

“Please, don’t refer to yourself as ‘daddy’.” Mason begged.

At the same time, Sorey sighed. “Will you guys ever stop with that nickname?”

“Nope.” As he walked by, Boris reached out and messed Sorey’s hair, now free and fluffy since he wasn’t wearing his headband and had been able to take a shower at the infirmary before being dispatched. “You’re still a baby. And you keep insisting on wearing all those feathers. Therefore, you are our _duckling_.”

“I’m eighteen! And I’m not even the youngest person in the Tower, anymore!”

“But you’re still the only one who enrolled at eight years old, when the norm is twelve.” Kyme said, eyes back on his book, white hair falling over his eyes. “Not even Boris and Sergei were as young as you, and they were pretty young when they became knights.”

“Still—!“

Stepping further into the room, Boris clapped his hands to bring everyone’s attention towards him. He was grinning more than he had back at the infirmary, probably due to seeing Sorey up and being his usual self again. “Alright, gentlemen, listen up. We’ve fought our battle, we are all alive… and we’re gonna celebrate!”

“Oh, hell yes!” Lucas punched the air, the scar over the bridge of his nose stretching with his grin. “It’s been far too long! Are we going to town?”

Boris nodded. “Yup! We’ll drink until we pass out, we’ll spend our night with some lovely people— And yes, Mase, we’ll go to Flamberge so you can see Natalie.”

Mason rolled his eyes, but his cheeks went as red as his hair. “I didn’t say a thing.”

“Your eyes said enough. Your cute, prickleboar eyes.”

“I don’t have prickleboar eyes!”

“Aaaanyway” Boris interrupted, clapping his hands again. “Everybody go get ready! I want to see you at the front gates in ten!”

“Yes, Sir!” Lucas, Kyme and Mason shouted, quickly starting to move around the room. They didn’t need their _kamui—_ or gear—to go into town, much less now that they were technically off-duty, but they still wore pieces of it when they went out to have fun. They liked the way heads turned upon the sight of their headbands, how the people smiled at them and welcomed them warmly wherever they went. They were the protectors of the country, and its people were happy to show them their gratitude. So they tied their headbands around their foreheads— except Boris, of course, who liked to wear his over the top of his head and tied with a knot against the back of his neck—, left their tight, long-sleeve shirts uncovered, and wrapped around their waists a simpler version of the garnet that usually covered their reinforced riding pants.

Meanwhile, Sorey sat down on an unmade bed, looking down at his boots. “I think I’ll skip this one out.”

Mason was the first one to turn towards him, mouth open in disbelief. “What!? We’re going out to celebrate _you_ , you can’t skip!”

“I thought we were going out so you could bang Nat.” Lucas muttered, voice even more muffled as he slipped a clean shirt over his head.

Mason smacked Lucas with an unfolded headband in the arm. “Shut your trap, scarface.”

“I’m just tired, really.” Sorey continued, not minding their friends’ starting to hit each other. “I did go through the Hellfire.”

“But, Sorey,” Kyme started, lifting his gaze up from where he was neatly folding his night clothes. “When was the last time you went out? Two weeks ago?”

“More like during the _last full moon_.” Boris said, crossing his arms over his chest. He was still smirking, but Sorey could see the hard shine in his eyes, letting Sorey know Boris knew something was up.

“…I’ll go to the next one, I promise.” Sorey’s heart was beating wildly in his chest, the pull that was Mikleo’s presence stronger now, for some reason. He wasn’t lying, he hadn’t lied to them in all the while, but he still felt bad about saying no to them.

“…Fine.” Mason amended, finally taking Lucas arm off from the top of his head. “But you’ll pay three rounds next time. As punishment.”

Sorey smiled, laughing softly. “Alright!”

A heavy but familiar hand fell on Sorey’s head then, messing with his hair softly. When Sorey looked up, he found himself being stared at by Boris’ intelligent eyes, and there was a mixture of amusement and worry in them that had Sorey sighing softly.

The grip of Boris’ hand on his hair tightened, a warning. Sorey loved his brothers, all of them, but there was something Boris knew about Sorey that the others didn’t, and in that moment, it showed. Luckily, the others were too busy getting ready to realize, for which Sorey was grateful.

His secret wasn’t his alone, after all. He couldn’t let it spread further than it already had.

“Don’t stay up too late, you hear me?” Boris whispered, making himself be unheard to the others. “You do need to rest.”

“I won’t.” Sorey nodded, and Boris’ hand slipped away. Then, Sorey added, softer: “Thank you.”

Boris brushed him off with a grin and a flicker to his forehead.

“Don’t mention it, duckling. I’ve got your back.”

 

* * *

 

A long while later, when night had long since fallen and the others were already on their way to town, Sorey slipped out of his barrack in full gear, feeling the feathers that hung from his headband brush softly against against his shoulder and cheek. It had been a long time ago when he realized that it was more convincing to say he was a knight on patrol duty if caught outside so late at night while wearing his gear, instead of night clothes. Time and practice had made him be very good at sneaking off.

But there was someone he could never fool, it seemed.

“Going somewhere?”

Sorey jumped, heart skipping a beat and hand flying to the hilt of his sword by his hip. However, he realized he knew that voice incredibly well, and felt a little stupid for being surprised like that. Sorey scratched the back of his head shyly, smiling as he turned around.

If there was something Sorey would never get used to, it was being around twins. No matter if they were together, or if Sorey saw them separated, there was always a moment in which Sorey couldn’t help but think how cool twins were before he was thrown back to the conversation at hand. This time, when Sorey saw Sergei Strelka in front of him, Boris’ twin brother, he felt the same thing. He was always amazed by how two people that looked exactly the same could be so different.

Although it wasn’t like they were two drops of water. Sergei and Boris shared the same facial bone structure — the same strong jaw and square chin, the prominent cheekbones and broad forehead. They even had the same pale green eyes, warm and affable when they were at ease. But while Boris’ chestnut hair was a mess that liked to flop over his left eye like a rebellious fringe, and his chin was always carefully shaved, Sergei wore his hair carefully trimmed and styled back away from his face, and a patch of matching brown hair covering his chin. There was also the small scar by the corner of Boris’ eye, the result of a battle almost lost.

But the most differentiating trait of the brothers’ were their postures. Boris always carried himself in a carefree manner, making him look younger than he actually was, as if he didn’t have a worry in the world. The only times he did change and became tense were when he was in the presence of a mage… or when Sorey got himself in trouble.

Sergei, however, was different. It was as if he was constantly weighed down by a burden he could not—nor was willing to—share. It made Sorey feel sad and guilty whenever he added to that pile of burdens. Boris might have looked younger than he actually was… but the tension around Sergei’s eyes and shoulders made him look older.

“Not really?” Sorey replied to Sergei, feigning innocence. “I was just… walking around.”

“After you told Boris you were staying behind to rest?” Sergei asked, walking closer and crossing his arms over his _kamui._ His was a bit different, the long tunic that he wore over the main parts of the gear differentiating him as a captain. He was smiling, but he looked incredibly tired and worn out. “In full gear?”

Sorey’s shoulders slumped. Sergei was being kind, honestly, by giving Sorey a way out; but both of them knew what Sorey was doing so late at night that close to the Academy grounds. He sighed, stepping closer to Sergei, his back towards the mages’ home.

“I just… It’s been almost a week, between us going away and my time at the infirmary.” Sorey looked away, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I wanted to see him.”

“You’re tired.” Sergei shook his head, eyes warm and understanding, but still ungiving. “You’ve been unconscious for three days and you woke up to Hellfire. If you try to sneak in there you’re gonna get caught.”

Sorey’s heart beat fast inside his chest. “But—!”

“And remember that it wouldn’t be just you in danger if you were caught.” Sergei reminds him kindly, and Sorey winced. “If they catch you and they discover you were going to meet with a _mage—_ “

Sorey’s heart stopped beating entirely. He trusted in his abilities to sneak in and out of the Academy grounds, but Sergei had brushed against one of Sorey’s greatest fears. His secret — _their_ secret _,_ their _friendship._ — being discovered, the consequences of it…

Sorey closed his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek. “I just wanted to see him.”

“You will.” Sergei nodded. “Tomorrow. When you’re feeling better.”

Slowly, Sergei put his hand on Sorey’s shoulder and steered him towards the Tower, slowly pushing him towards the dorms. The night was chill, but the gear was heavy enough that the small walk to the grounds had made Sorey feel warm. Still, his hands by his sides were cold.

“Oh, by the way.” Sergei suddenly said, hand slipping away from Sorey’s shoulder and flying to his own pocket. “Here. I figure you’re missing it by now.”

When Sergei pulled out a necklace from his pocket, Sorey gasped softly, relief making the tips of his fingers tingle. He hadn’t let himself think of that necklace much since he had woken up, not wanting the sadness to cloud his thoughts. He had thought it lost in the battlefield, probably buried under piles of mud and blood—definitely not the end his precious necklace deserved.

The necklace was a dark, leather cord from which hung a crystal prism with what seemed to be an ember inside. It shone bright and fiery in the darkness of the night, and when Sorey held it softly in his palms he felt its warmth against his skin, pulsing like a small heart.

“How…?” Sorey whispered, barely moving his eyes upwards to look at Sergei with surprise.

Sergei smiled at him, but kept his eyes glued ahead. “Boris took it off you before you reached the infirmary, and gave it to me to take care of it. If someone else had seen it…”

Sorey nodded. His necklace wasn’t something a common knight should own. What’s more, it was something _no one_ should ever own. Mikleo had created it for him, years ago, imbuing the strong crystal with his own magic to make it glow like fire.

Whoever saw the necklace would know. Not for the first time, Sorey was grateful for the fact that both Sergei and Boris were in on his secret.

He would never have been able to keep it secret on his own.

“Thank you.” Sorey said, quickly sliding the necklace over his head. The crystal fell into the open lapels of his gear, pressed against the skin over his breastbone.

“Thank me by resting.” Sergei replied. “Don’t think you can skip out of training tomorrow.”

Sorey didn’t turn back during their walk to the Tower, but he couldn’t help doing it once he reached the door to step inside. There were no windows illuminated in the Academy, but the grounds were lit with torchlight, so Sorey could see the shape of the castle-like building against the starry night sky.

_See you tomorrow, Mikleo._ Sorey thought, closing his eyes for a moment to feel the chilled breeze. _I promise._

Turning back once again, Sorey stepped into the Tower.


	3. Chapter 2: Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Thank you so so much for the sweet comments you've left so far, they make me so happy!! I hope you guys continue to enjoy this story <3<3
> 
> Happy reading!

**_Oath of the mages of Glenwood._ **

_Hereby and forevermore, I pledge myself to the kingdom._

_May my magic bring prosperity to the kingdom_

_And good health to my king._

_May my prayers be a compass for the knights_

_And the courage in their veins._

_May my body, soul and mind cease to be mine_

_Now and forevermore_

_For I was born for my kingdom_

_And for my kingdom,_

_I shall die._

 

 

At the Academy, the first set of bells rang right before dawn.

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much self-discipline he used, or how early he went to sleep the night before, Mikleo could never wake up in time for them. By the time the last bell was echoing around the walls of his room, Mikleo was always still wrapped tightly in his sheets in a cocoon, with his pale hair the only visible part of himself. It was almost a routine now: he would groan through the first three bells, fall asleep during the next five, and contemplate the stupidity that were early mornings during the last two.

And then he had to run.

They were supposed to be at the Meadow before sunrise. Most days Mikleo barely made it, but that day he was late. So incredibly late, in fact, that he could already feel his cheeks heating up in shame as he ran down the stairs, holding up the lower ends of his _sumari_ so as not to trip with one hand, and trying to righten the veil over his head with the other.

In hindsight, this wasn’t even his fault. It was Sorey’s; because he and his stupid tendency to get hurt and make Mikleo worry had kept Mikleo awake for most of the night, fingers numb from trying to assemble amulets in a way to calm himself down. He hadn’t seen him in almost a week now, with him being unconscious at the infirmary of the knights’ Tower and leaving for the battle before that. Mikleo only knew he was okay by luck, by a chance encounter with Sergei Strelka that had left Mikleo more anxious than he had been before. The deep lines of worry in the captain’s face hadn’t helped.

After that, Mikleo hadn’t even tried to go to the rooftop that night, sure that Sorey wouldn’t make an appearance. But that didn’t mean he went to sleep early, either.

As his flat shoes slapped against the carpeted floor, Mikleo saw in the distance the entrance to the Meadow. Many mages were already inside, sitting on their knees with their hands folded over their laps, probably finishing their meditation to begin the morning prayers. Mikleo’s heart skipped a beat; he hated starting the day with a failure.

There were two guards at the door —two junior knights, standing proud at each side —, and a tall mage clad in a blue _sumari_ , their veil barely covering a thick mane of whitish hair.

Mikleo slowed down his fast pace, breathing heavily but never taking his eyes off the other mage. He wasn’t used to so much exercise, much less so early in the morning. When Mikleo reached the door of the Meadow, the awaiting mage giggled softly, one hand raising to cover the lower half of their face, as if they had forgotten they were wearing the mask.

“You are late, Mikleo-san.” The tall mage said, bowing their head slightly in greeting. “And you are a mess.”

Mikleo was trying hard not to wheeze from his little run, so he took a moment to reply: “I overslept.”

“I can see that.” The mage —familiar to Mikleo like no other, and probably the closest thing he had to a friend inside the Academy— stepped closer, raising their hands. With care of not touching anything else, the mage’s hands softly held the ends of Mikleo’s veil and tilted it to the left, so it finally covered the ends of his hair. “You should fix your mask too. It is starting to slip.”

The mage was right. Mikleo could feel one of the mask’s edges pressing hard against his cheekbone, which only happened when he wasn’t wearing it correctly, but he did nothing to righten it until the other mage stepped back.

“Thank you, Lailah.” Mikleo said, voice muffled by his mask. Through the slits, he saw Lailah’s shoulders move silently in another soft giggle.

“It is alright. But we should go in; we are about to start.” It was in that moment that Lailah turned towards the door, raising her voice so the knights at the door could hear her. “Please, close the doors behind us.”

One of the knights nodded, clearly the one with more experience of the two. “Of course, my Lady.”

Lailah headed the way inside. The Meadow was the place where mages recited their morning and night prayers, a secure space through which magic was easily accessible for whoever had the power to ask for it. It was a vast expanse of green grass that always looked healthy no matter the season. A door on the east-wing of the Academy gave way directly into the Meadow, and big panels of glass sealed it from the rest of the world, granting the mages protection during their most vulnerable time. Overhead, a ceiling also made of glass permitted the sun to shine down on the mages, warming the earth beneath their knees without making them break out in a sweat.

Sorey had once called the Meadow a birdcage. Mikleo saw it more like a sanctuary.

Without disrupting the heavy silence of the room, Lailah and Mikleo walked between the rows of meditating mages, finding their places easily. Mages were ranked according to their magic level by colors: from the weakest to the most powerful, white pearl, pale rose, bronze, green and blue. Mikleo had taken the exam to acquire the green color one month ago, and he still couldn’t stop touching the green hems of his _sumari_ , cradling his green mask over his lap when he sat alone in his room.

Pride was frowned upon between mages, but Mikleo couldn’t stop himself from feeling so.

Lailah had been blue for a couple of years now. But, then again, Lailah was older than Mikleo, had been training for longer too. They were separated by rank, so Mikleo took sit on a row before hers, with the rest of the green mages.

The higher the rank, the fewer mages wore that color. It wasn’t easy to achieve the levels Mikleo and Lailah were in.

As Mikleo knelt down on the warm grass, not chilled at all by the low temperatures of the night, the second set of bells started to ring. Around him, the rest of the mages raised their heads, dozens of masks rising towards the rising sun like flowers, hands still over their laps.

Mikleo’s heart clenched inside his chest. There was a time when the Meadow hadn’t been big enough for all the mages to pray at the same time, and a second turn of prayers had been needed.

Nowadays, the Meadow felt almost… empty.

Silently, Mikleo let his mind calm down, to open to the energy around him. ‘ _Magic calls to magic,’_ that was the first thing mages were taught at the Academy. No matter its form, no matter its intensity, magic will always find a way back to its caster, to its mage. It was the Principle of Equilibrium. The energy of the Earth was raw magic, pure and salvage, waiting for mages to shape it with their wishes and prayers. When he closed his eyes, Mikleo could feel the rivers of energy, of magic, running beneath himself, interwoven among themselves, some flowing closer, others flowing away and out of reach.

The moment the echo of the last bell disappeared, the mages began to pray.

And with their voices, the magic underneath rose to them as if answering to their call. With their words, the mages shaped the raw magic into wishes of prosperity, of health. With their hearts beating in tandem with the _earthpulses,_ Mikleo and the other mages prayed for the victory of their knights, for their safely return home from wherever they were, for their quick recovery.

They wished for their guards to stand against foes or anyone who wished Glenwood harm. They wished for plentiful harvests and soft rains, and even for the winter to come just a little bit later, so even the slowest of harvesters could find themselves at peace.

They prayed for their King.

The king of Glenwood had reigned over the country for _centuries_. The magic of the mages had allowed him to do so, keeping him young and healthy. And the king—sent by the Empyreans long ago as the protector of their realm on Earth—in turn, ruled over the kingdom with love and severity, as a king should do.

Mikleo had only seen him once before, and it had been enough for Mikleo to want to devote his life to his cause.

It had been a long time ago, barely a year after Mikleo’s arrival at the Academy. They had made them all wear their ceremonial clothes, dispose of any jewelry they might have been wearing, make sure they were presentable and nice for the king’s visit. Mikleo still remembered the awe he felt as he observed the king go through the high ranked mages, nodding at them, _smiling_ at them, never once flinching away from the magic in their uncovered eyes. Only green and blue mages were allowed to take their masks off during royal visits.

In that moment, Mikleo had promised himself the next time the king visited the Academy, he would meet his gaze steadily, and without a mask.

Mikleo suddenly felt the magic around him shiver. The strength and power of his thoughts were calling the magic in, making it go through Mikleo’s body so his heart could reshape it, polish its ragged edges into neat, mighty prayers that he protected outwards, tangled with his own magic. He felt his heart skip a beat at the rush of energy that the process caused, and he closed his hands into fists over his lap.

Then the bells started to ring again, the space between bells shorter this time. Mikleo breathed out, relaxing his shoulders and opening his hands… and the magic slowly stopped its rushing through Mikleo, leaving him cold and lightheaded for a second. He opened his eyes to darkness, and he blinked a couple of times until he was able to see again through his mask, struggling to breathe evenly as his body grew accustomed to the withdrawal from the earthpulse.

The morning prayers were over.

Everyone took a second to breathe while the bells rang, hearts beating wildly, heads swimming in fog. Mikleo disliked this part —strongly— but he knew it was necessary. Morning and night prayers were the only moments when the mages joined their powers together with the earthpulse, making their magic reach _beyond._ No matter how uncomfortable the feeling was later, or how tired he felt despite just waking up, Mikleo couldn’t help the rush of excitement upon knowing he had just done something incredible.

_With his magic_ .

He was keeping the people and the country safe. He was keeping their beloved king safe.

And that—that was all Mikleo wanted from his life.

 

* * *

 

When Mikleo and the mages finally left the Meadow to do their daily routines, the sun was already pretty high in the sky. However, the soon approaching winter made the day slightly chilly in the shadows, and Mikleo had to press the folds of his _sumari_ closer to his chest as he walked through the stone corridors with Lailah.

He probably should have grabbed another layer before rushing out.

But it was alright. Mikleo didn’t have class until later in the morning — mages were encouraged to learn and go to classes during the hours they weren’t praying. In all his years at the Academy, Mikleo had learnt history, architecture, geography, crafting to improve his amulets… He didn’t have much free time during the day, much less so when the knights were off fighting battles, but he still used every hour he could to learn about the world.

So maybe he could use his time to craft some new amulets. He was completely sure Sorey had ended up destroying the amulets he had given for his last battle — _again_ — and Mikleo had to replace them before the next. He quickly made a mental list of all the things he would need, ideas of how to make them more resistant already flowing through his head. Mikleo didn’t make amulets just for Sorey —mages protected the knights at close range with their amulets, granting them speed and strength when their muscles started to be exhausted. But it would be stupid not to admit that Mikleo made Sorey more amulets than were strictly necessary.

And still, they didn't seem to be enough…

A soft sound made Mikleo stop dead in his tracks. In other circumstances he wouldn’t have stopped, but Lailah and him were alone in the cold corridor, and every sound was amplified by ten. This sound in particular had been like a wheezy whimper, as if someone was in pain, and then a muffled sound—someone falling down.

Mikleo was already turning around before he realized the sound came from Lailah.

She was on her knees on the floor, the skirts of her _sumari_ pooling around her legs as she clutched at her chest with one hand and rested the other against the wall. She was breathing sharply, the sound muffled by her mask, but still loud enough that a chill went down Mikleo’s spine.

He was down next to her in an instant, his hands fluttering around her like anxious butterflies, but never touching.

“Lailah—Lailah, what is it!?” Mikleo asked, fear making his voice higher than usual. “Are you okay!? I—“ Mikleo quickly patted at the folds of his clothes, searching. But when he found nothing he felt himself go pale, a cold sweat making him shiver. “Lailah, I forgot my gloves back in my room, I rushed out—“

“It is all… right, Mikleo-s-san.” Lailah panted, turning her mask up towards him. Her hair had spilled over her shoulders and back in a cascade of pale white. Mikleo hadn’t realized how lifeless it looked until now. “I simply need… a second…”

Another wave of pain seemed to shake Lailah, who grunted and clung to her own chest even tighter, nails digging into the fabric. Mikleo leaned forward, hands ready to support Lailah by the shoulders—but he quickly moved back before making contact.

Mikleo ground his teeth. He wanted to help Lailah, but without gloves…

Mages weren’t allowed to touch others, or one another. It was a price to pay, for their use of the world’s magic, and their access to the earth pulses.

But Lailah—

“I’ll go get someone.” Mikleo said, already raising up. He was so scared for Lailah he didn’t even remember to use polite speech. “I’ll be right—“

“No!”

Lailah’s sudden cry made Mikleo freeze. Her features, of course, were covered, but still Mikleo had the feeling she was _terrified_ , and not because she was in pain on the floor. “Please, Mikleo-san,” Lailah whispered, turning her head away in shame. “Do not call anyone.”

Mikleo felt his heart fall to the pit of his stomach.

Finally, he understood.

The price for magic is a high one. So high, in fact, that it couldn’t be paid with a single thing, but by adding tiny ones, almost until the mages were paying much more for the magic they had access to than it was worth. Not being able to touch others was only a small price to pay, compared to the biggest of them all.

Their lifespan.

Mages didn’t live for long. The magic they worked with wore at their bones, made them fragile, deteriorated their organs and tainted their blood. Mikleo himself felt the magic’s toll on his body more than he liked to admit — he could barely run through a couple of hallways without feeling pain flare up from his joints and his lungs fight for oxygen. At his nineteen years, Mikleo was a bit more than halfway through a mage’s lifespan.

And Lailah, who was six years older than him, was already nearing the end of it.

Mikleo had never let himself think of it, but the signals were there. In her lifeless hair, in the thin skin that covered her hands… in the way a single session of morning prayers had made her fall to the ground in pain, completely exhausted and out of breath. Lailah had made it this far from the Meadow in the hopes of being alone when the worst of it struck, most likely.

Sadness coiled deep in Mikleo’s heart. He didn’t want to think about Lailah no longer being there.

“I’m here.” Mikleo whispered, leaning close. He didn’t touch her, not once, but he knew Lailah would appreciate that more than any comforting touch Mikleo could have dared to give her. “I won’t leave.”

Lailah, still curling on the floor, nodded tiredly. “Thank you.”

They stayed for a couple of minutes in the cold floor of the corridor, Mikleo keeping anyone away with soft enough wishes that people wouldn’t come prying. Anyone looking for it would detect Mikleo’s wishes, but Mikleo also made sure to pray for no one to look for them in that moment. Lailah only needed a couple of minutes to rest, to let her body get its strength back after the amount of magic she had liberated into the earthpulse.

Sure enough, Lailah was soon moving up onto her feet, keeping one hand on the wall to keep herself up. Her blue _sumari_ swayed around herself, the long bits of fabric now wrinkled there were she had sat on, and the stones that she wore around her neck clinked softly.

“Are you okay, Lailah?” Mikleo asked once Lailah had fully straightened up, her shaky hands trying to smooth the fabric of her skirt.

“I am… better.” Lailah said after a slight hesitation. She was keeping her face casted away, her long hair falling over her shoulder. “I am sorry you had to witness this.”

“Don’t—I mean, there is no need.” Mikleo moved to stand beside her, not sure what for, but deciding on doing so nonetheless. “Do you need anything?”

Lailah shook her head. “I should be all right, now.” She said, and it sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. “I am afraid I extenuated myself. I should have been more careful.”

Mikleo opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again. Telling Lailah what she already knew —that she had to be careful with her prayers, that she would end up cutting her time even shorter than it already was if she didn’t — would make her no good. So Mikleo settled on nodding, and letting her set the pace of their walk back towards the rooms, no words exchanged.

The silence continued until they stood at the entrance of the blue mages’ quarters, where Mikleo couldn’t accompany her anymore. For a second, it seemed like Lailah would go inside without another word, but she stopped with a hand on the doorknob, body slightly turned towards Mikleo.

“Thank you again, Mikleo-san.” Lailah whispered, the hints of a smile in her voice. “Not only for staying but—for preventing anyone from finding me. I could feel your magic around me.”

Mikleo blushed softly behind his mask. “It-it is alright.” Mikleo muttered. “It is the least I could do.”

Lailah giggled softly. She tilted her head to the side, observing Mikleo, and her hair moved again to fall against her back. “I am truly blessed to be your friend, Mikleo-san. I am grateful I was able to meet you.”

Mikleo’s heart clenched. Those were beautiful words, words that Mikleo rarely heard and that made his eyes cloud. But—

“You do not have to say goodbye just yet, Lailah.” Mikleo said, not caring to hide the emotion in his voice. “Don’t let today make you think like that.”

Lailah giggled again, a bit louder this time. “Do not worry, Mikleo-san. I was just trying to show you my gratitude. But for now, I shall retire to rest.”

“Yes, please.” Mikleo nodded. “Will I see you later?”

There was an actual smile on Lailah’s voice when she said. “Definitely, Mikleo-san.”

 

* * *

 

By the time night fell, Mikleo was exhausted.

He didn’t return to his room until night prayers were done and he had eaten his dinner with only mild appetite. Instead, he spent his day doing daily tasks — helping organizing the books at the library, checking on the novices, working on generic amulets down in the workshop. He would have gone to the infirmary if he could have, but only mages from the bronze level and below were allowed on healing duty. Though higher levels did a better job, they had other obligations.

They needed every ounce of power for their prayers and amulets.

After closing his door, Mikleo went to his table to leave some extra material on the worn wood. He had only managed to save a few pieces of crystal, some stones and a bit of leather, but it was enough for what he was planning. He set aside the two plain bracelets woven with threads made of silver that he had done the day before, and moved closer the one with the gold thread, letting the bits of polished crystal over it.

They were the perfect size for the bracelet.

Mikleo nodded, smiling at his good eye for the crystals when a sound on his window startled him. It was a quick knock but loud, as if someone had thrown a pebble against the glass. But Mikleo knew better by now, and he huffed as he moved quickly towards his window.

Sure enough, he got there in time to see a golden bird fly away quickly, not even waiting for Mikleo to open his window. Mikleo rolled his eyes, following the bird with his gaze until it disappeared behind the knights’ Tower, and then opened his window with one hand, preparing his other hand underneath the frame of the window to catch the small roll of paper that fell.

He didn’t need to open it —the paper always had the same message—, but Mikleo still did so, almost eager to see the familiar writing on it.

**_See you tonight?_** The parchment said, handwriting messy and quick as if the writer was scared of being seen doing so.

Mikleo smirked. He didn’t know why he had even been worried until now.

Still smiling, Mikleo went to the nearest lit candle and let the flame lick the paper, quickly turning it into ashes. He waited until the wax of the candle engulfed the ashes and then stepped back to prepare himself. He was only to reply to the messages if the answer was a negative, but he _always_ burnt it the moment he got it. It wouldn’t make them any good if someone were to find a pile of messages under Mikleo’s bed.

Rushing into the shower, Mikleo started to prepare the speech he would give Sorey for being so careless.

—

There were one hundred and eight stairs from Mikleo’s wing to the rooftop of the Academy. Mikleo had counted them during his slow ascent years ago, and he still regretted doing so to this day. Now he couldn’t help but count them all over again as he went up, trying to take his mind away from the fact that his lungs seemed not to be able to get enough oxygen. He could still remember being a child, just arrived to the Academy, and rushing up the stairs almost two at a time in his haste to see his friend.

Mikleo now wondered if it wouldn’t be better to meet in the grounds. True, it was riskier to meet down there, the chances of someone seeing them too high to even consider it. But… Lord Amenoch, those stairs would kill Mikleo, some day.

When he saw the iron door that lead outside onto the rooftop, Mikleo breathed out and stopped, even if there were still a handful of stairs left. He always did so to allow himself some time to stop looking so out of breath, wiping the long sleeve of his _sumari_ over the back of his neck and the underside of his jaw. A magic-less wish was thrown into the air with hopes of not looking as flustered as Mikleo felt. He breathed in and out once, twice, thrice… And then calmly went up, slowly opening the door with his left hand —it had been years since that door had been locked— and peered outside.

The rooftop was deserted, except for a big, golden bird resting on the balustrade, wings spread slightly and moving with the soft breeze. The long, purplish feathers of the underside of its tail were ruffled as if Mikleo’s arrival had startled him, but if that was the case, that was the only indication the bird gave of it. It was bright and beautiful, even when bathed under the light of the moon.

****Behind it, the sky was a vast expanse of dark fabric, spangled with small dots of lights that formed constellations.

Mikleo shook his head and stepped out onto the rooftop, letting the door fall closedsoftly behind him. Once it was closed, he walked leisurely towards the bird, crossing the otherwise empty rooftop and feeling the bird’s intelligent eyes on him at all times. It was strange, to be looked at with such intensity by a bird, but Mikleo was more or less used to it by now.

“Hello, my deformed aubergine.” Mikleo greeted the bird, and to his endless amusement the bird batted its wings, as if it had understood Mikleo’s words and completely disagreed with them. Mikleo wiggled his naked fingers in front of the bird, not quite touching the feathers of its chest. “Has your master been overfeeding you again? You look fat.”

“I have not!” An indignant voice suddenly shouted from Mikleo’s right, the voice coming from the dark abyss that was visible beyond the balustrade. Mikleo smirked at it behind his mask. “He’s perfectly balanced, thank you very much!”

“He’s all big in the middle and has a narrow head.” Mikleo shoot back, eyes still on the bird. “He’s the shape of an eggplant!”

“Can you stop calling my falcon an eggplant, _please?_ ” A dull sound reached Mikleo’s ears then, letting him know the owner of the voice had landed on the rooftop. Mikleo turned in time to see Sorey unhooking the hook he used to climb the facade of the Academy and roll the long rope around it for later. It was hard to see in the semidarkness of the night, but Mikleo could at least see Sorey’s hands, which where illuminated by the soft glow of Sorey’s necklace.

Like every time Mikleo saw him wearing it, he smiled softly.

“You know, that joke is getting old.” Sorey continued, shaking his head. His hair, like always, spilled over the front of his headband in a fluffy mess.

“Who says it’s a joke?” Mikleo said, and stepped closer to Sorey, one hand extended forward. “Here, give me the lamp.”

Sorey did as asked wordlessly, carefully handing over the lamp that he had been carrying on his shoulder. Mikleo grabbed it by the base and moved more towards the center of the rooftop, kneeling to turn it on with the matches he kept between the folds on his clothes. They would soon run out of them. He’d have to make more.

Behind him, he was partially aware of the sound of wings batting and a soft caw, and then the sound of Sorey’s annoyed sigh. “See? You offended him. If Mao ends up with low self-esteem I’m going to blame you, Mikleo.”

When Mikleo turned, rooftop now better illuminated by a warm orange light, there was no sight of Mao the falcon, but there was Sorey, who regarded him with a pout and hands on his hips. Mikleo smirked again. “Whatever you say, Sorey.”

Silence settled between them then, only broken by the soft sound of oil burning in the lamp. Sorey raised an eyebrow at him, and Mikleo mimicked him, but the gesture was lost under the mask. Still, Mikleo observed amused as Sorey’s pout became deeper, and his fingers started to drum nervously over the folds that pooled around his waist.

Mikleo gave him two more seconds. The first one was barely over when Sorey finally bursted.

“Are you really not gonna say anything?” He asked incredulously, making it hard for Mikleo to muffle a laugh. “At all?”

Mikleo’s smirk grew. “Oh? Like what?”

Sorey threw his arms up in disbelief. “Oh, I don’t know! Like ‘I’m glad you’re alright, Sorey!’ or ‘I missed you, Sorey!’ Or—“

“Or ‘thank you for breaking all of my amulets _again’_?” Mikleo finished for Sorey, walking a bit closer as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Sorey jumped slightly, suddenly tense. Then his shoulders dropped and his head fell forward, hair covering his features. The posture of his body, however, was enough to tell Mikleo that he had won this round. “…I kind of forgot about that.”

“Of course you did.” Mikleo shook his head, veil floating softly in the breeze. “How do you manage to break them all every single time?”

With a soft laugh Sorey raised his head, just to scratch at the back of it with his fingers. “Sorry, Mikleo.”

Mikleo sighed, rolling his eyes. He was now standing in front of Sorey, silently cursing their height difference, and not for the first time. It was unfair that Sorey had grown that tall and muscular while Mikleo… hadn’t. “And for the record,” Mikleo continued, tilting his head up to look at Sorey in the eye. “I did know you were alright. Sergei-san told me.”

“…Oh.” Sorey, unlike anyone else who wasn’t a mage, didn’t have trouble meeting Mikleo’s gaze, even with the mask on. It was something that always made Mikleo’s heart skip a beat, the easiness with which Sorey looked at him in the eye. It was a refreshing feeling. “I didn’t know that.”

“I guess you did not.” Mikleo shrugged. “Still, show me.”

Both of Sorey’s eyebrows rose with surprise to hide under his bright headband. “Huh?”

“Your wound.” Mikleo explained, already stepping closer with his eyes fixed on Sorey’s _kamui_. “Let me see if it’s okay—“

“Woah, woah, there’s no need!” Sorey stepped back, arm around his own middle, like a barrier between himself and Mikleo. Mikleo simply rolled his eyes at the gesture. “A mage healed me up while I was at the infirmary, I’m all right now!”

Mikleo gave one step forward to save the space Sorey had put between them, rolling his eyes again. “Still, I want to see it. Let me just—”

There was a deep blush on Sorey’s cheeks. Both of his arms were covering his middle now, which was a mistake. Mikleo saw the moment Sorey flinched when one of his arms rubbed against where he most likely had been wounded, and now there was no way Mikleo was letting it go.

“Show me, Sorey.”

“I—It’s pretty down!” Sorey sputtered. He looked away suddenly, his earring flashing in the soft light. “O-on my body, I mean. I’d have to take off the top part of the _kamui_.”

There was a soft blush threatening to rise up from Mikleo’s neck, but he pretended not to notice. “It’ll be fine. You know I don’t need to touch you to heal you—“

When Mikleo raised a hand —not with the intention of touching Sorey but just to become him closer — Sorey stepped back wordlessly, eyes fixed on Mikleo’s. The blush from before was still there, dark in the strange light of the rooftop, but his features were determined now, none of the playful teasing left in sight. Mikleo stopped abruptly, surprised by the sudden change on Sorey’s face.

“What is it?” Mikleo asked, voice trembling slightly. “Do you really not want me to heal you?”

The thought stung, no matter how much Mikleo didn’t want to admit it. If Sorey was in pain, and Mikleo had the solution, why couldn’t he just take it from him?

But before Mikleo could ask him that out loud Sorey turned once again towards him, easily locking their eyes together as a sad smile bloomed on his lips.

“Will you take off your mask first?” Sorey asked. He sounded almost… vulnerable.

Mikleo startled, hand raising halfway to his face. He had forgotten he was wearing it, like so many other times before. And though Sorey always reminded him to take it off with a smile or a small jest, that night Sorey sounded like he didn’t dare to ask — like he was letting the words go against his will, making them soft and unsure as he spoke them.

It made Mikleo’s heart clench inside his chest.

“I—“

“Maybe you didn’t—“ Sorey continued, summoning a small laugh that didn’t sound too real, but that was still very warm. “—, but I did miss you, Mikleo.”

Mikleo’s heart clenched again. Flashes of himself during the past week flashed before his eyes — the first night he didn’t go to the rooftop because he knew Sorey wouldn’t be there, which he spent reorganizing his tools and materials until he mistook iron for silver and decided it was time for bed; the afternoon he sucked in a breath as he felt Sorey’s amulets breaking despite the distance, worry making him imagine thousands of reasons why amulets for good luck and protection where now breaking apart; and the late night when he was awoken by a commotion in the grounds as the knights brought in their wounded, and he got a glimpse of Boris Strelka’s pale face without a trace of a smirk.

If all of that wasn’t missing someone… Mikleo didn’t know what it was.

With a sigh, he reached up to the front of his mask, slowly moving it away from his face and letting the cold breeze chill his heated skin.

He met Sorey’s eyes over the small space that separated them, one eyebrow raised. “Better?”

Sorey grinned brightly. The stars had nothing to do against his smile. “Much better!”

“Good,” Mikleo turned around quickly, walking back towards the lamp. He felt almost naked without the mask after always wearing it in the presence of others for an entire week. It always got some getting used to, to be around Sorey and not wear his mask after long periods of time like those. “Now, come here. I want to see that wound.”

It took him a couple of seconds, but soon the sound of Sorey walking closer reached Mikleo. As Mikleo left his mask carefully on the floor by the oil lamp, Sorey stood behind him changing his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting nervously.

Mikleo looked at him over his own shoulder, a question in his multicolored eyes.

“I—I really need to take this off.” Sorey muttered, tugging at the lapels of his gear softly. “Is… that okay?”

Mikleo shrugged, turning back towards the lamp. Its heat made his face feel too hot. “Of course it is.”

“Ah! Hold on, let me just—“

Before Mikleo could make to kneel on the floor, Sorey unclasped the cords that crisscrossed around his waist, and the folded piece of furry fabric that he had been wearing over the back of his pants fell down, leaving him only in the longer bits of the _kamui_ that reached to his knees and his fluffy, thick pants from the waist down. Then he proceeded to spread out the furry fabric, its dark brown color promising warmth and comfortability.

“There!” Sorey exclaimed proudly, pointing at the bear pelt. “It doesn’t look weird anymore to carry this around with winter getting close and all, so I figured this would be better than sitting on the headband…”

During the warm nights of spring and hot nights of summer, Sorey would always unknot the headband he wore around his forehead and lay it out for them to sit; the fabric was surprisingly wide, enough for Mikleo to sit without getting the white bits of his _sumari_ dirty, but the bear pelt was better. It allowed them both to sit and spread their legs, leaving a small separation between their bodies so Mikleo could move around without fear of accidentally touching Sorey.

Mikleo touched the soft material as he knelt down on a corner, soon patting the rest of the fabric for Sorey. “Lay down.”

Sorey did as asked, wordlessly removing the armor pieces and letting them rest next to Mikleo’s mask. He pushed back the lapels of the _kamui_ as if it were a jacket and let them gather around his hips, just to then push up the lower part of his thick and tight black shirt. He could have gotten it all off, but it was enough for Mikleo if Sorey pushed it up to his chest.

The wound, after all, was in the lower section of Sorey’s abdomen, leaning towards the right, a bit above where the hipbone pressed against Sorey’s tanned skin. It wasn’t long, barely the length of Mikleo’s middle finger, but still its edges were ragged, as if the suture had been made by a shaky hand, and its sides an angry red.

Mikleo frowned, hand hovering over Sorey’s abdomen without touching him.

“This is such a sloppy job!” Mikleo couldn’t help but exclaim as Sorey gingerly let himself lay down on the pelt.

“Uh, sorry?”

“Not you, dummy. The healing work. Though I can’t believe you let yourself get hurt like this…”

Sorey turned his gaze up, towards the stars. “Boris was in danger. I pushed him away and took the arrow for him.”

It suddenly made sense, for Mikleo. From the sudden destruction of the amulets to Boris’ expression that night… It all had happened in the blink of an eye, and it hadn’t even been meant to happen to Sorey.

“Honestly…” Mikleo sighed, letting his hand hover inches apart over Sorey’s closed wound.

“I can’t say I’m sorry.” Sorey smiled, tilting his head to look up at Mikleo. “I did save Boris.”

Mikleo closed his eyes. He could feel the magic inside him rise up to his call, a warm feeling spreading from his chest and outwards. “You would do anything for him, wouldn’t you?”

Sorey’s answer came softly but true; even though Mikleo wasn’t looking at him anymore, he could feel Sorey’s eyes on him. “Yes. And for you, Mikleo.”

Mikleo’s heart was beating faster now, his magic singing in his veins. _I know,_ he thought to himself, concentrating on his magic more than he was on his own thoughts. _You’ve proved that to me many times. If only I could give you just half of what you give to me…_

“Do not speak.” Mikleo said instead. “I am going to heal you.”

The magic flowed easily, almost eagerly, towards Sorey’s wound, pushed forward by the strength of Mikleo’s wish. Mikleo felt Sorey tense, his whole body going rigid as the magic moved over and inside him — and then relaxed completely, a breathy sigh escaping his lips as he became putty against the pelt. Opening his eyes, Mikleo saw Sorey close his own, leaning back and breathing deeply as Mikleo’s magic undid the poor job of the other mage and fixed everything they hadn’t, making Sorey sigh in contentment and a soft blush rise from his chest to his cheeks.

Mikleo kept his eyes away after that, feeling like he wasn’t supposed to look.

“Everything okay?” Mikleo wondered, sneaking in a small wish for Sorey’s recovery to be painless, even if his friend didn’t seem to be suffering at all.

“Yeah…” Was Sorey’s answer, though it was more a sigh than a word. “Hey, did you ever find out why your magic feels different for me?”

Mikleo knew what Sorey was talking about, of course. Since Sorey’s first visit to the infirmary, they both had realized that the magic of others mages didn’t have the same effect on Sorey’s body that Mikleo’s had. Like the rest of knights, Sorey went through indescribable pain when a mage healed him, as if his body reacted against the wishes of recovery from the mages.

But when Mikleo did it, Sorey’s body reacted naturally to it, positively. No trace of pain ever crossed Sorey’s expression as Mikleo used his magic on him —what’s more, he always looked so incredibly at peace…

It wasn’t that Mikleo’s magic was different from the rest, not at all. He had tried to heal other knights, and the result had been the complete opposite. They had screamed and writhed away from his gloved hands, preferring the pain of their wounds than the healing of magic. Mikleo didn’t understand.

He could only speculate.

“Not really,” Mikleo replied, finally leaning back. He was tired — he hadn’t had time to rest after the night prayers, after all — but he was also content with the result. Sorey’s muscular torso was completely healed, not even a scar left from the arrow. Sorey leaned up on his elbows to look at it. “The only conclusion I could reach was that you got used to my magic very early on, so your body doesn’t try to fight it when I apply it directly and without a mediator, like an amulet or the earthpulses.” Mikleo shrugged, moving back a little. “Aside from that, I really have no idea.”

“I see,” Sorey smiled as he inspected his abdomen, and then let himself fall back against the bear pelt, eyes on the sky. “I’m glad it’s like this, though. I like it.”

_Me too._ Mikleo thought, but didn’t say. Instead, he looked up at the stars.

“Here, lay down with me.” Sorey suddenly said, moving towards the edge of the pelt, still laying on his back. Mikleo looked down to find Sorey patting the space next to him, also on the pelt. “Tell me about your day?”

With a small grunt, Mikleo acquiesced. He slowly laid down next to his friend, leaving a space the side of a fist between their shoulders. Carefully, Mikleo arranged his veil so it didn’t crumple beneath his head, and so it didn’t fall back from his forehead. “It was alright. I had to put a small fire out in the workshop when some of the novices tried to make a protection charm using a candle as a catalyst.”

Sorey winced. “Ouch. You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“Nah. It was easy. But, honestly, why would a knight ever carry a candle around? They were being stupid.”

Laughing lowly, Sorey shook his head. “What else?”

For a moment, Mikleo almost told him about Lailah. But it didn’t feel like a good moment. Sorey was very well aware of the short lifespan of mages, because of course he was, but Mikleo knew he wouldn’t like the reminder. Mikleo himself didn’t like it — he was alright with it, because it was a price to pay for being a mage and he was ready for it… But when he was like this —with Sorey— he didn’t want to think about the end.

He only wanted to think about the present.

“Nothing much.” Mikleo turned his head on the pelt to look at Sorey, who had moved to rest his head on his own arm. Mikleo had his own resting lightly on top of his chest. “What about you?”

“I had fun!” Sorey admitted. “We had training in the morning. The wound hurt a bit still but we ended up making bets so that helped me get my mind off it.”

“Bets?”

“Yeah! Like ‘who wins most of the sparring matches’ and things like that. It was —“ A yawn cut Sorey’s words then, making tiny tears appear at the corner of his eyes. “Sorry. It was fun.”

“You should sleep, if you’re tired.” Mikleo said softly, running his eyes over Sorey’s profile, silhouetted against the starry sky. His eyes were falling close, but there was a sweet smile playing on his lips. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

“Your magic makes me sleepy, that’s all.” Sorey said. Still with his eyes closed, he turned his head towards Mikleo, so he never saw just how close they were in that moment. Almost no space stood between the tips of their noses. “It’s so warm…”

Mikleo said nothing. He simply regarded Sorey for a moment longer, and then returned his eyes to the sky. He could see the light of the lamp flickering at the periphery of his vision, and Sorey’s warm breath soft against the side of his neck. It was the warmest thing he could feel, in that moment.

The silence lulled Sorey to sleep. But Mikleo laid wide awake, body buzzing with the remains of his magic wish and Sorey’s warmth.

The breeze of the night ghosted over his naked cheeks. Not wearing his mask felt more natural now.


	4. Chapter 3: Worth it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Here I am again, with a new chapter! Sorry for the late reply of the comments, but life has been... hectic, lately. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!! And please show some love to @defragmentise (Twitter and Tumblr) and check the amazing artwork for Knight and Mage! (and all of the other AUs!)
> 
> Happy reading! <3<3

“So…” Lucas started, voice tinted with the soft hum of a smirk. The sound of the knights’ feet hitting the ground as they ran their tracks during morning training accompanied his voice. “I think we all have to address the elephant in the room, here.”  
  
“Or,” Mason added in, dedicating Sorey a side eye glance. “Maybe we should talk about how said _elephant_ left the room in the middle of the night and only came back when the sun started to go up?”  
  
Sorey winced. He had thought he had been stealthy enough when he had left —and he had been. The only reason why the others knew Sorey had been gone was because both Mikleo and Sorey had fallen asleep on the rooftop, and they had only woken up when their eyelids had started to turn rosy with the first rays of dawn. Sorey had rushed back, but he had still entered the room one second after the bells had started ringing.  
  
Next to Sorey, Boris snorted. So it seemed Sorey wouldn’t be getting any help from him at all.  
  
“I just went out for a while.” Sorey admitted, not meeting any of his friends’ eyes. It wasn’t a lie; but, because it wasn’t the complete truth, Sorey knew it wouldn’t satisfy his friends.  
  
Lucas used his next step to skip into Sorey, pushing his shoulder against his. “In full gear?”  
  
Imitating Lucas, Mason did more or less the same, but draping himself over Sorey’s back for a second. “Which you wore completely rumpled when you got back?”  
  
An obstacle up ahead gave Sorey a moment to organize his ideas. The obstacle were sacks of hay piled up on top of each other, until the last one reached around Sorey’s breastbone. Without a word, all of them sped up, their feet stomping against the ground and their eyes settled on the task ahead. Sorey and Boris jumped over it, using their momentum and the strength of their arm to fly their legs over it, and then took the fall with the balls of their feet, knees slightly bent. Lucas jumped over it, leaping high with both his legs tucked under his body and a grin on his scarred face.  
  
Mason simply ran around it, fast enough that he didn’t even have to speed up to catch his friends afterwards.  
  
“The thing is,” Lucas continued the moment Mason was by his side. “That this isn’t even the first time you’ve done it. We haven’t asked because, before all, we’re your good mates, but—“  
  
“—but man, the curiosity is killing us!” Mason finished, leaning over Lucas’ broad chest to look at Sorey. “Tell us. Did you go see someone?”  
  
Sorey could have lied. He hated doing so, even more when it was to his brothers—but in moments like these, it was necessary. Sorey couldn’t let them know he met a mage every night. Mages and knights worked together, had the same goal, but they should not have any relations aside from that. They were too different for that; mages were cold and distant, obsessed with anonymity, with the equilibrium of the universe. Children of the Moon. Knights were warm, familiar, children of the Sun and handwork. They weren’t beings made to be together, no matter how much Sorey wanted them to be.  
  
But he wasn’t keeping this secret for what others may think. If they got caught, Sorey would only get one enormous telling-off, and a downgrade in his position inside the Tower.  
  
Mikleo, however, would be forsaken from the Academy. They wouldn’t care about them keeping every single other rule, they wouldn’t believe them. They would throw Mikleo out of the Academy, where he wouldn’t have access to the earthpulses — and Sorey couldn’t allow that. So Sorey would keep the secret; he would lie to his friends, meet in secret.  
  
Pretend like he wasn't hiding a part of himself.  
  
“Come on, I can already see you blushing!” Lucas continued, poking Sorey on the cheek. Sorey sent him an unimpressed look. “Who was it? The cute girl from the tavern from last time? She kept staring at you…”  
  
“Oh, please.” Mason rolled his eyes, breathing heavily. He was bad at running and talking at the same time, but that didn’t stop him from doing it. “I’m sure it’s the boy from the Spring Games. Sorey and he kept sharing smiles and being all playful.”  
  
“What!?” Mason’s words surprised Lucas so bad that he tripped with his own feet, keeping his equilibrium one second before eating the sand of the track. “Are you fucking kidding me? That guy was totally over Boris! He kept checking out his ass!”  
  
“I do have a nice ass.” Boris said, but none of the others acknowledged him.  
  
Sorey sighed, the sound drowned by his friends’ chatter. They were almost reaching their goal after fifty laps around the grounds, muscles burning and chests tight. Sorey was surprised his friends even had enough strength to continue with their chattering. But he wasn’t surprised at their persistence. Now that they knew something was up, they wouldn’t stop until Sorey had spilled every single thing.  
  
So Sorey was ready to lie, the words at the tip of his tongue—  
  
But Boris beat him to it. “I sent the duckling on a little errand.” He said with a shrug, making the others shut up. He lied so well, even Sorey found himself thinking about what errand Boris could be referring to. “I knew he wouldn’t get into trouble even if he was caught because, honestly, look at his face.” Boris accompanied his words with a pinch to Sorey’s cheek, which Sorey promptly returned to Boris’ arm. “I needed to send Sergei a message and I couldn’t wait until morning.”  
  
“Seriously?” Mason asked with a frown, leaning forward even more to look at Boris. If he ran like that, he would end up kissing the ground. “What kind of message?”  
  
“That you got Natalie pregnant and we needed money to cover the scandal.”  
  
“You _what!_?” Mason exclaimed, so loud that the birds in a near tree took flight, their voices alarmed and high. “You bastard, what the hell!?”  
  
“Such a tragic story.” Boris made as if he was rubbing a tear away from the corner of his eye, never once gasping for air as he ran and spoke at the same time. “She is so young… What will her parents say?”  
  
Mason turned as red as his hair in that moment, his clear eyes sending a murderous look to Boris. “You son of a—I would never! I swear to Eumacia, if you’ve made me look bad in front of Captain Strelka—!”  
  
Accompanied by Boris’ and Mason’s dispute, the group soon reached the goal, sprinting the last of the distance to reach it quicker. As soon as they passed over the mark, all of them groaned and bent over, trying to inhale as much oxygen as their tired muscles were demanding. Sorey felt his limbs tremble from extenuation, but he couldn’t help the grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth. He loved training, the stretch of his muscles, the burn in his chest.  
  
And it was even better when he got to feel it all with his friends as the sun shone warmly over them.  
  
“I see you guys finally made it.” Kyme said as he walked closer, only a fine coat of sweat revealing that he had been running as well.  
  
“How the hell do you always —haaa— end the track before us?” Lucas panted, sprawled on the ground. His chest rose and fell with every intake, eyes closed as he tried to regain his breath under control. “We started at the same time! And you’re older!”  
  
Mercilessly, Kyme walked closer to Lucas and kicked him in the ribs, making the other man groan and curl over himself like a baby. “Because unlike you all, I don’t waste my energy gossiping like a bunch of spinsters.” He said, and turned around in all of his glory, chin raised as he walked away from a whiny Lucas. “Come on; we have sparring next.”  
  
“Hey, Boris!” Sorey muttered, running to catch up to a fast leaving Boris. “I—“  
  
“Not a word.” Boris said, voice grave. For a second, Sorey thought Boris’ voice had been harsh and hard, but when he looked into his friend’s face he saw him winking at him under his fringe with a finger pressed against his lips.  
  
Sorey smiled bright like the sun, stepping into line with Boris to grab their training swords. 

 

* * *

 

A long while later, Sorey found Boris waiting for him outside of the communal showers, leaning against the wall with one foot up and arms crossed over his chest. His hair —barely held back by the headband that he wore on top of his head — fell over his eyes and shadowed his expression as he looked down at an object in his own hand. It looked to be a strip of fabric, adorned with silver threads, but Sorey couldn’t see what it was from far away.  
  
“Hey,” Sorey said before reaching Boris, hands behind his head to tie his own headband around his forehead. “Were you waiting for me?”  
  
“Yup,” replied Boris as he pocketed the thing he had been observing. Sorey didn’t comment on it. “We have a mission.”  
  
That made Sorey frown as Boris fell into step with him, both of them walking away from the showers and towards the barracks. “A mission?” Sorey repeated, turning towards his friend. “A battle?”  
  
“Town.” Boris simply said, and Sorey nodded, understanding. “There’s a band of merchants that have asked for an escort on their way through the Meadow of Triumph. Apparently there have been bandits attacking merchant carts lately around that area, and the open space worries them. Sergei gave me the mission, and I thought you might want to come.”  
  
Sorey blinked. It wasn’t unusual for Boris and himself to go together on missions without the rest of the barrack, but it was strange for Sergei to directly give his brother a mission such as this one. Boris got bored easily, after all, and in such a simple mission it wouldn’t take long for him to start shooting arrows at the Leaning Towers out of boredom, or something like that.  
  
“Sure.” Sorey shrugged. He didn’t mind stepping out of the Tower for a bit, as long as they were back by night time. “When are we leaving?”  
  
“Now, if you’re ready.” Boris gave him a look from the side of his eye, and then looked back at the front. “But maybe you’ll want to cover yourself up a bit,” he commented with a smirk. “You’re flashing everyone out, duckling.”  
  
  
Sorey looked down. Sure enough, the lapels of his _kamui_ had fallen open, and the tanned skin of his chest was open for the world to see. He had forgotten to grab a shirt in the morning, and he had figured he would just go back to the barracks with the outer layers of the gear on. He blushed softly, covering his chest tightly with the fabric.  
  
“Look who’s talking.” Sorey snorted, grinning at Boris. “I think the whole Tower has seen your butt at some point.”  
  
“Like I said before, I do have a nice butt.” Boris’ smirk grew bigger, his pale eyes twinkling softly. “It’s a shame people don’t get to see it often.”  
  
In the barracks, they quickly threw anything they might need into a bag, adding the hard pieces of the _kamui_ on as they walked around the room. Sorey tightened the fabric around his chest and pulled at the ends of the skirt, hiding underneath some of the daggers he had laying around his room. He preferred not to use them, but he wouldn’t let the merchants get hurt either. He also slipped a leather cover over his forearm in his left arm, strapping it securely and tightly.  
  
“You’re bringing Mao?” Boris asked without even looking, too busy checking the tension in the rope of his bow.  
  
“Yeah! I figured he could do some hunting in the forest near town.” Sorey explained. Next, he moved around some of the clothes he didn’t wear anymore, bits of _kamui_ that were too small or tight for him to use anymore, and pulled the crystal necklace from its hiding place. It was tucked against a corner of his chest, the one that rested against the foot of his bed. Instead of immediately putting the necklace on and hiding the crystal under the fabric, Sorey let its warmth calm him, watching as is light filtered through the spaces between his fingers with the color of flames. It reminded Sorey of the color of the oil lamp on the rooftop, and the thought made him smile.  
  
Shaking his head, Sorey slipped the necklace around his neck, feeling its familiar weight rest against his skin. If he closed his eyes, he could feel Mikleo somewhere nearby— the feeling wasn’t reliable, in no way a tracking system of sorts, but feeling Mikleo’s presence in his chest made Sorey smile softly.  
  
“I’m all done.” Boris suddenly said, bow at his back and fists on his hips. “You?”  
  
“All set.” Sorey rose to his feet, grabbing the scabbard of his sword and fastening it to his back. “Let’s go!” 

 

* * *

  
  
The ride to the center of Pendrago was calm, relaxing. There was something about horseback riding that always made Sorey feel light, the smooth galloping of his horse making him rise off the saddle almost effortlessly. Mao flew with them, right over their heads, only descending at times to fly fast and strong between both knights, his wings lifting up enough of a breeze to muss their hair.  
  
The sound the hooves made as they kicked the ground underneath brought Sorey memories —not from their rides to battle and back—but from his first ride ever, with Sergei behind him and Mikleo by his side. It had rained a lot since that day, when his legs were too short to reach the stirrups and his thighs didn’t have strength enough to hold himself straight on top of the horse. More than once during that journey, Sergei had had to keep him still with a big hand on his scrawny shoulder, an amused laugh that reached Sorey every now and then.  
  
Even now, years later and with experience enough to make him able to gallop while standing on the stirrups, Sorey could still feel Sergei’s hand on his shoulder, keeping his back straight and his body aligned with the horse’s walk.  
  
But the ride was, sadly, short, and soon both Sorey and Boris reached the center of Pendrago, the vast, golden fields of wheat and cereals being slowly replaced by low houses and streets paved with stones. They entered the city in a slow trot, keeping themselves pressed against the saddles, heels pushed down and toes pointing towards their horses as people turned to look at them. Even if the Tower was pretty close to the city and it wasn’t unusual to see knights around from time to time, the townspeople were still overjoyed when they got to see them.  
  
“Hi! Hello!” Some children started to scream at them, running next to the horses without any fear of getting kicked by the big animals, or stepped on. Sorey laughed and waved at them, smiling at them when they got close enough to brush their hands against his boot and then run away, their laughter echoing against the stone houses around. It was like a dare game, one in which Sorey always liked to indulge the kids in. He pulled at the reins of his horse slightly, making it slow down enough for a tiny child to barely reach him and then sprint away.  
  
Next to him, Boris learnt down over the side of his horse without even slowing down so a little girl could pat him softly on the cheek, only asking for a high five and a smile in return.  
  
The knights loved the people and the people loved the knights.  
  
That was the way it had always been.  
  
They steered the horses towards the main plaza, now at a walking pace. The kids seemed to have gotten bored already, for none of them were following them anymore.  
  
“Let’s leave the horses here for a while.” Boris said, looking towards the sky. “It seems it’s a bit early, so we can have a look around the market while we wait?”  
  
Sorey nodded, swinging one of his legs over the rump of his horse and letting himself fall on his feet. “Sure!”  
  
They tied the reins of the horses near the water trough, under the shade of the tree that marked the center of Pendrago. There were other horses there — from travelers or farmers that had decided to spend their morning in the city. But none of those wore the equipment that Boris’ and Sorey’s horses had; they were as colorful as their _kamuis_ , and just as resistant.  
  
The town’s market was open every day from half morning to sunset. It brought life and money to Pendrago, the small stalls made of fabric and logs selling anything someone could think of; from jewelry to food to clothing, Pendrago’s market was famous for its variety and kind-of-fair prices.  
  
Looking around the market was one of Sorey’s favorites pastimes. He always found something new and exciting, like the time he found a book about a land where there were no seasons, only winter, and the snow fell from the sky as dark as ashes (Mikleo and Sorey had read it by the oil lamp, book brought up on Sorey’s knee and Mikleo’s warmth reaching him even though they weren’t touching). There was another time when he found an expensive but very nice rock the size of Boris’ head that he bought on a whim because it was cool—and that broke in half halfway home after it fell off Sorey’s bag, only to reveal a colorful and bright inside. He had ended up giving it to Sergei as a birthday present, and the man proudly displayed it in his office, by the big map of Glenwood that hung from his wall.  
  
But he had other plans for today.  
  
Boris was lost in the sea of people in the market the moment Sorey took his eyes off him. Sorey wasn’t very worried — Boris was like a child at times, always getting distracted by shiny, pretty things. Even if they couldn’t find each other in the mass of people around them, Sorey knew both of them would be back with the horses in time for their mission. So he simply shrugged and continued on, looking at the stalls with toys with amused eyes, letting his fingers touch the smooth silks of the dresses that hung in full display, leaving before the eyes of the woman around the stall could turn towards him. He had been caught up more than once with mothers trying to convince him to marry their daughters and/or sons; knights didn’t make much of a salary, but still having a child marry a Platinum Knight was a high honor for anyone outside of the circle knights and mages moved in.  
  
It didn’t take long for something to grab Sorey’s attention. The stall was placed strategically between a blacksmith shop and the town’s most famous bar, the fabrics that composed it tinted with a dark color so the heat stayed out and the sun didn’t filter through. On display, there were tools of many kinds, some that Sorey had gotten to work with at some point, others that he had never seen before. There was one, laying inoffensively on top of the table, no bigger than his thumb and with details made with wood.  
  
Sorey picked it up with curiosity, fingers brushing against the surface slowly. There were open spaces at each side and the top, as if pieces could be attached to it, and there seemed to be some kind of button on the front…  
  
“I wouldn’t press that, if I were you.” A voice suddenly said, making Sorey jump. “Unless you want to chop a couple of fingers off your hand.”  
  
“W-what!?”  
  
The voice chuckled, sounding close. Sorey lifted his head from the object in his hand to find a girl sitting on a box on the floor, looking up at him with big, amused eyes. Her blond hair fell over her back completely straight, and a smile played on the corners of her mouth as she registered Sorey’s sudden nervousness.  
  
“Here, let me show you.” She said, and jumped off the box with a single movement. Then, before Sorey could react, she snatched the thing from Sorey’s hand and pressed the button on the front. With a metallic sound, the object snapped, and where a second ago there had been nothing there was suddenly a very sharp, very deadly looking knife, glinting softly in the light. Sorey gaped at it with shiny, excited eyes.  
  
“How did you do that!?” He exclaimed, leaning over the table to look at the knife. “It was so fast, how did you make it appear like that!?”  
  
The girl laughed softly, not at Sorey but at his eagerness. “I didn’t make it appear.” She explained with patience. “Look.” With a single finger, the girl pushed the blade down from the dull side, making it fold into the wooden part once again and making it disappear from view through the side. “It’s called _navaja_. It has a set of springs inside that make the blade pop up when you press this button over here. It’s small but it’s perfect to cut rope, or anything you might need.”  
  
“So cool…!” Sorey muttered, taking the thing from the girl.  
  
“Are you interested? I’ll make you a good price for it!”  
  
Sorey winced. Feeling a bit of disappointment in his chest, he left the _navaja_ back on the table. “Sorry… But I’m actually saving to buy a present, today.”  
  
“Oooh, a present!” The girl never once lost her smile, despite Sorey’s words. She tilted her head to the side before continuing. “Someone special?”  
  
Sorey blushed deeply, looking down in embarrassment. The usual words were already at the tip of his tongue — _‘he’s just a friend! Childhood friends! Nothing more!_ ’ — but for the first time he stopped himself. The girl didn’t know who Mikleo was. She wouldn’t pry no matter the answer, and it wasn’t like Knights couldn’t have special people in their lives. And no one was around to tease him for this, either.  
  
So Sorey scratched the back of his neck and met the girl’s gaze, still blushing to the tips of his ears and feeling his heartbeat incredibly fast in his chest.  
  
“Ah… yeah.” He said softly, heart skipping a beat. “I… I know I’ve made him worry recently, and I was thinking of buying him a present as an apology.”  
  
The girl clapped her hands together, jumping a bit on her spot. “That’s so sweet. Although… Telling you this isn’t good for me, but — shouldn’t you be looking in the jewelry stalls or something? It seems more appropriate, to be honest.”  
  
“A-ah, yes, but… He isn’t too keen on accepting gifts.” Sorey admitted, lowering his hand back to the side. “So I thought maybe he wouldn’t refuse something useful?”  
  
Sorey’s words weren’t lies, but they weren’t the whole truth, either. On the long list of things mages had to give up for their access to magic, there were material possessions. Not in the literal sense of the word, of course, but the feeling of _wanting something_ tainted the souls of the mages, and made them unable to access the earthpulses easily. Sorey didn’t understand that whole idea — how did that work, exactly? Were you unable to want something? Or was the problem desire? —, but he did want to make things easier for Mikleo. If Mikleo believed in something — even if it was something that didn’t let him have things for himself — Sorey would respect it.  
  
But sometimes… it was hard. Sorey knew that, deep down, Mikleo had a wish to know the world. He squished it down with prayers and amulets, but there was no mistaking the shine in his eyes every time he asked Sorey about the place he had last been in. So sometimes Sorey just… slipped, and bought Mikleo little souvenirs that he took back home with him.  
  
They had caused some arguments over the years. Mikleo never accepted the crystal bottle he bought once when he visited a village near the sea, full with seashells and pink sand. Sorey had loved it because it smelled just like the beach when he opened the lid, and he was ecstatic to share that with Mikleo. But Mikleo refused it, like many other presents that came before, and after.  
  
Still, this…  
  
“What is he into?” The merchant girl asked, leaning on her hands on the table. “Does he have any hobbies?”  
  
“Uh… he makes jewelry.” Sorey said. It was the closest explanation he could give without using the word ‘amulet’. That would have sold him out immediately. “He works in a workshop creating trinkets and jewelry, but he also likes to do some original designs when he’s at home. He doesn’t have tools at home, though, so he always ends up with cuts and blisters in his fingers. Do you think you—?”  
  
“Yes!” The girl suddenly exclaimed, moving away and rummaging through some of the boxes behind her. “I think I have the perfect thing.”  
  
Sorey looked up worriedly, towards the sun. He didn’t want to make Boris wait. “I—“  
  
“Here it is!” The girl shouted, and rushed back to the table, leaving something on it for Sorey to see. It was a small roll of black leather, the size of his forearm, and tied together with a thin, also black string of leather.  
  
Sorey frowned at it. “Uh…”  
  
“It’s a toolkit!” She explained, and pulled at one of the ends of the string. The knot came undone, and then the whole thing unrolled to show tiny tools neatly kept into tiny pockets, everything perfectly organized and neat. “They are small but just as good as any big tool! And there’s stuff to bend iron, to cut it, even to smash it! Well, I say iron but it can be used with any materials you might think of, even crystal!”  
  
Sorey’s eyes sparkled with a new light now. This — this was perfect for Mikleo. Not only he would find it useful, but the neatness and organization was so much like him… And it was small enough for him to be able to hide it somewhere in his room.  
  
Sorey moved a hand closer to the kit, letting his fingers touch the soft leather. “It’s perfect!”  
  
“Right!? And it even has this!”  
  
With a swift movement, the girl pulled out of its pocket what was probably the most boring looking tool of them all. It was nothing more than a cylinder with a hole at the top and a small wheel on the side, right on top of a button. Sorey would have said it was nothing, but after that automatic knife…  
  
And he was right. Because in the blink of an eye, the girl made the wheel spin, pressed the button and a flame appeared over the whole on the top of the cylinder, bright and warm.  
  
“Ah!” Sorey exclaimed, eyes shining with the light of the fire. “So cool! How does it work!?”  
  
“Lean back, Sir, you won’t want to burn out your eyebrows.” The girl said, clearly amused. She waited until Sorey took her advice, and then explained. “It isn’t that much different from a oil lamp, really. There’s a braided piece of cotton that goes from just the opening of the cylinder to deep into a small compartment inside that is full of oil. When you spin the wheel, a spark is created from the friction and it ignites the cotton that is wet with oil!”  
  
“So cool… But, how is it possible that the spark won’t make the oil burn? Why only the cotton?”  
  
The girl smirked. “Good question! The oil is sealed at the bottom of the cylinder. When you shake this up,” she demonstrated it, slowly turning the cylinder up and down a couple of times. “The oil slips through teeny tiny holes and coats the cotton just enough for it to catch fire. Clever, right! Your boyfriend can use it to melt metal or silver or anything!”  
  
Sorey couldn’t help the blush at the word ‘boyfriend’. He kind of felt bad — Mikleo was not, in any way, his boyfriend, and there was a high chance he wouldn’t like being called that at all —, but still… Sorey liked the ring of it. Even if his heart clenched painfully when he thought about it for too long.  
  
So he simply blushed deeper and nodded his head repeatedly, his feathers moving with it. “He’ll love it. Alright, I’ll take it!”  
  
“Great! And you’re lucky too because just for today, this baby is only 890 gald!”  
  
Sorey choked. Just as fast as it all had rushed to his cheeks, he could feel his blood leave his face, and his heart skip a beat inside his chest. He could also feel the disappointment deep in his stomach, like a ball of dirt.  
  
“I…” He started, disliking every word he had to mutter. “I don’t have that much money.”  
  
The girl’s smile fell instantly. “Oh, shoot! I should have asked about your budget first, I’m so sorry.”  
  
“No, no, it’s fine! I should have said something before. It’s such a pity…” Sorey leaned forward, touching the leather once again. “He would have loved it…”  
  
“Mm… Okay, tell you what? We can make a deal.”  
  
Sorey frowned. “A deal?”  
  
The girl smirked, leaning her weight on the table with a single arm. Her blue eyes shone, without any malice but with a lot of intelligence in them. “Yes, Sir! If you have something valuable on you we can either barter or I’ll see what it is and I’ll reduce the price of the kit. How does that sound?”  
  
“Aah, I’m not too sure I have anything…” Sorey made a mental inventory of everything he had on himself. The most precious thing he had was Mikleo’s necklace, but there was no way he was giving that up. He had his weapons and his gear, but he would get in trouble if he used that, so no. That only left… “What about this?”  
  
With a single movement, he unstrapped a small harness he wore under the _kamui_ and around his hips, and from the folds produced a small book, covered with leather and worn by use. Sorey let it softly on the table for the girl to see, which she quickly did, turning the pages slowly and carefully.  
  
“It’s a book about an explorer named Shepherd, and his adventures across Glenwood. There are passages about the founding of the Academy, and even of the first wars against Kuba Empire. I… I never knew if the stories were true or not, but it’s my favorite book.”  
  
“I can see that.” The girl said with a smile. “Mm, in other circumstances I wouldn’t take it, but I know for a fact a friend of mine would kill for this book.” The smile with which the girl said that last bit made a shiver ran down Sorey’s spine. “So, how about this. The book and 600 gald, and the toolkit is yours.”  
  
Sorey winced again. It was still a lot of money.  
  
“I can’t go any lower,” the girl continued.  
  
“It’s alright.” Sorey finally said, and smiled. _This is for Mikleo, after all…_ “I’ll take it.”  
  
“Great! Let me put it on a bag so it’s easier to carry.”  
  
As Sorey paid and the girl took the things away, Sorey found himself not feeling too sorry about the book. Yes, it was his favorite, but he didn’t want Mikleo to continue hurting himself when making the amulets in his room. He had complained many times about not being able to take the tools from the workshop with him.  
  
He hoped Mikleo wouldn’t refuse the gift.  
  
“Here you go! Thank you for your purchase!”  
  
“Ah, thank you!”  
  
The moment Sorey stepped out of the stall, bag pressed against his chest and smiling softly, he ran into Boris. His friend was looking at him a bit amused, as if he had been observing what Sorey had been doing for a while.  
  
He ruffled Sorey’s hair before he could do anything against it, and both of them marched back towards the horses.  
  
“Let me guess.” Boris started, smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “A present for your boy?”  
  
“He isn’t ‘my boy’.” Sorey quickly replied, shaking his head.  
  
“But you did buy him something.”  
  
“…Yeah.” A bit of color rose to Sorey’s cheeks, but he hoped Boris would think it was from the warm sun overhead. “A toolkit, for his amulets. I hope he likes it.”  
  
“Mm.” The smile on Boris’ face fell then, replaced by a serious frown. He didn’t seem to be angry, just deep in thought. “Sorey. Tell me something.”  
  
The fact that Boris hadn’t used ‘duckling’, but instead had said ‘Sorey’, made Sorey snap his head towards him, already knowing this was important. “Yes?”  
  
“…Is Mikleo worth it?”  
  
The question made Sorey blink, hands slack against his sides. They had never discussed the topic of Mikleo beyond a brief explanation of what they did when they met on the rooftop of the Academy every night. Sergei had been the one to fill in the details years ago, when Boris’ curiosity had reached its peak level and he had bursted into his twin brother’s office demanding ‘where the hell did the duckling go every time and why was he so damn good at sneaking off’. So Boris asking that threw Sorey a bit off, more so when it came so suddenly.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“I mean… Everything you do, everything you’ve done. The sneaking out, the lies, the secrets, the late nights…. Are all of those things worth it?”  
  
Sorey had never lied to Boris. And he certainly wasn’t going to start now. So he smiled, and said with complete honesty: “Yes. He… I know you don’t see it, because he’s a mage and you don’t really know him, but… He’s worth it. Completely worth it.”  
  
Boris looked at him with surprise, just for a second. And then he laughed, from deep inside his chest, and ruffled Sorey’s hair once again as he did so.  
  
“Good!” Boris exclaimed. They had almost reached the main plaza by now. “Then grab this.”  
  
A small object flew before Sorey’s eyes, and he caught it in his hand before even seeing what it was. When he lowered his hand and opened it, he found himself looking down at a bag of candies, tied at the top with a cute, blue ribbon.  
  
Sorey frowned. “Aren’t these your favorite candies?”  
  
“Yup. Give them to Mikleo, will you?”  
  
“Huh!? What, why!?”  
  
Boris shrugged. From the side, his smile was sweet, affectionate. “He will know. Just don’t eat them all!”  
  
“Hey, of course I won’t! Boris!”  
  
There was no time for chatter, anymore. The merchants were waiting for them at the plaza already, chatting worriedly among themselves, and Boris and Sorey slipped into their knightly roles, ready to help. 

 

* * *

 

As a norm, when night fell and it was time for Sorey and Mikleo to meet, Sorey would always send Mao first, in case someone else decided they wanted to have some fresh air and decided to go up onto the roof. And while Mao sat at the balustrade, Sorey always waited for Mikleo to arrive dangling over the facade, hundreds of feet above the ground and nothing more but a hook and a rope to keep himself up. They had done it like this since Sorey had found Mao, and it was the safest way to do it.  
  
But tonight Sorey was too excited. He could feel the toolkit under his gear, the leather growing warm from the contact with his body, and the bag of sweets safely kept in one of his pockets. With his excitement, there was dread as well, of course. Sorey really wanted Mikleo to like the present, to keep it.  
  
_What if he gets mad? What if he doesn’t even look at it? Maybe I shouldn’t—  
_  
“Sorey?” Mikleo’s voice suddenly rang in the deserted rooftop. Sorey hadn’t even heard the door open and close. “Is everything okay? Why are you not hiding?”  
  
Sorey turned, surprised. Mikleo was hurrying towards him, breathing heavily under his mask, hands pulling up the hem of his _sumari_ , even though it didn’t touch the ground when left alone.  
  
Behind them, Mao cawed softly, as if amused by Sorey’s following blush.  
  
“Ah, no, everything’s fine! Sorry.”  
  
Mikleo stopped in front of him, still panting and with a small groan. His shoulders fell and rose quickly as he tried to regain his breath, and in the darkness of the night Sorey saw Mikleo lean forward, veil tilting dangerously off his head.  
  
“Do not scare me like that.” Mikleo said looking up at Sorey, who could feel Mikleo’s glare even through the mask.  
  
Sorey winced. This wasn’t a good start at all. “Sorry.”  
  
Wordlessly, Mikleo asked for the lamp by putting a hand forward, and Sorey gave it to him with a sigh, watching as his friend lit up a match and then the lamp itself. Warm light coated the rooftop, but it did nothing to keep the chill of the night away. Days were becoming colder as winter came closer, and at night nothing of the warmth from the sun rays remained.  
  
Sorey had already put the bear pelt on the ground, and he sat down on it with his legs crossed beneath himself before Mikleo had even finished setting up the lamp. When he was done, Mikleo turned to find Sorey smiling up at him excitedly, hands clasped in front of him with faked innocence.  
  
Mikleo sighed, and Sorey’s heart skipped a beat.  
  
“What have you done now?” Mikleo said as he sat down next to Sorey, body turned slightly so he could face him, voice severe. As always, he made sure no part of his body touched any of Sorey’s. “You have that look on your face that tells me you’re up to no good.”  
  
Sorey’s heart jumped once again. It was always nice to realize how well Mikleo knew him. “And I have no idea what look you have on yours.” Sorey said instead of explaining himself, leaning a bit forward. “Your mask, Mikleo.”  
  
Even without seeing it, Sorey knew Mikleo was rolling his eyes. “Sorey…”  
  
“If you just took it off when you got here, I wouldn’t even have to ask!”  
  
Under Sorey’s watchful eyes, Mikleo sighed, shook his head and removed his mask. His veil, that had moved before when Mikleo had ran to him, was pushed back more than usual, and that allowed Sorey a glimpse of a flustered Mikleo, with his fringe falling softly over his eyes and some of the longer strands sticking with sweat to his cheeks.  
  
Sorey’s breath caught in his chest. The shadows from the lamp played with the colors in Mikleo’s eyes, turning them sharper, brighter. It was a contradiction in itself, but Mikleo made it work, somehow. His beauty, like the rest of Mikleo, worked in ways Sorey always thought he understood… until he realized he didn’t at all.  
  
“You look incredible tonight.” Sorey blurted out, not even realizing what he had said until Mikleo’s eyes grew big. He felt heat crawling under his skin, but he didn’t rush to apologize, nor excuse himself. Sorey hadn’t said any lies, after all.  
  
“What are you even saying…” Mikleo shook his head and put his mask carefully away, so there was no way anything could happen to it. “Stop trying to distract me and tell me what you are up to! Something is definitely going on.”  
  
Scratching his cheek with his index finger, Sorey laughed lowly. No matter how many times he blurted cheesy things like that, Mikleo always brushed them off with the barest of reactions to it. So Sorey acquiesced, sitting straight and moving a little closer to Mikleo.  
  
“I have a surprise for you.” Sorey said, continuing before Mikleo could protest. “Just trust me! Close your eyes and show me your palm. I promise I won’t do anything stupid.”  
  
Mikleo looked away. There was curiosity in his eyes —lots of it— but also caution. So much caution, as if he wasn’t letting himself give in easily. “Sorey…”  
  
“I won’t touch you.” Sorey said softly, meeting Mikleo’s gaze. “You can trust me.”  
  
A beat of silence, the tick of an imaginary clock. Then Mikleo’s eyes fluttered closed, hand open in the space between them. “I know.”  
  
Sorey pulled the bag of candy out of his pocket, but he did nothing for a long moment. Once again, Sorey found himself amazed by Mikleo’s beauty, by the softness of his face framed by his hair and veil. The slope of his nose was strangely enticing that night; it made Sorey’s eyes travel from Mikleo’s to his mouth, to those soft lips that were currently pressed together to hide curiosity. Sorey’s eyes stayed there, admiring the swift curve, the tender color — and then cleared his throat, quickly reaching for the candy.  
  
An idea had formed in his head.  
  
Slowly, carefully so as not to be discovered, Sorey picked up one of the sweets and unwrapped it, just to hold it between his index and thumb and moving it towards Mikleo.  
  
Because Sorey knew Mikleo trusted in him, he was even more careful when he pushed the candy against Mikleo’s lips, blushing furiously but not allowing his hand to shake. He would not touch Mikleo, not even by accident.  
  
Mikleo’s lips fell open from surprise, a chance that Sorey smartly took to push the candy past Mikleo’s teeth. His friend made a sound of surprise and moved back, eyes snapping open to glare at Sorey.  
  
“Sorey!” Mikleo shouted around the candy. Sorey could see it glinting in the light from inside Mikleo’s mouth when he spoke. “What the—!”  
  
Just as quickly as Mikleo had jumped, he calmed down, identifying what was inside his mouth as candy. Sorey watched avidly as emotions flickered over Mikleo’s features, drinking them all up and feeling his chest quiver with each one of them. Years of wearing a mask had made Mikleo very expressive.  
  
“I didn’t touch you,” Sorey said around a smile, jiggling his legs with excitement. “I swear!”  
  
“What… what is it?” Mikleo asked softly, rolling the candy around with his tongue. “I’ve… I’ve never tasted anything like this before.”  
  
“It’s Boris’ favorite candy!” Sorey explained, and Mikleo’s eyes went big once again, making Sorey laugh. “It’s butterscotch. He told me to give them to you, that you would know why—“  
  
The moment his words left his mouth, Sorey realized Boris was right. Mikleo’s features went soft as he picked up the bag with the rest of the candy, carefully playing with the now unknotted ribbon.  
  
“Will you tell him thanks?” Mikleo said, and picked another piece of candy to give to Sorey.  
  
“Of course!” Sorey replied, letting Mikleo drop the candy onto his palm and quickly throwing it into his mouth. He wasn’t a big fan of the flavor, but he wasn’t going to say no to Mikleo’s offering. “But… can I ask why? Why the candy, why the thanks?”  
  
Mikleo hesitated. His shoulders rose and fell slowly as he breathed, putting in order his thoughts. Finally, he said: “I know Boris and Sergei help you everyday. I know that some nights I wouldn’t see you if it wasn’t for them. Maybe the fact that we’re free to meet every night is thanks to them, even.” Mikleo shrugged, no longer meeting Sorey’s gaze. “I wanted to show them my gratitude, so I made them amulets. Bracelets, for good luck and health. I… would have liked to do more, but—“  
  
“Mikleo…” There were times when the urge to hug Mikleo threatened to be stronger than Sorey’s self control; tonight, it was one of those times. “I—“  
  
“And I also know how important they are to you.” Mikleo’s eyes snapped back to Sorey’s, holding his gaze steadily. “If I can protect them, I will, Sorey.”  
  
Emotion swelled inside Sorey’s chest, making his heart burn, his eyes water. It was so, so hard not to react to Mikleo’s words, not to reach forward and touch him, hold him. He breathed in deeply, and his hands on top of his legs spasmed, as if they themselves wanted to move.  
  
But Sorey didn’t allow them to. For Mikleo.  
  
“That… That makes me very happy!” He said, leaning close, but without touching. Never touching. “Thank you, Mikleo.”  
  
Sorey prayed to the Empyreans that his voice alone was enough to convey the message. That his eyes could deliver the feeling that had always been living inside Sorey’s heart, and that had only grown stronger over the years.  
  
If they did or not, Sorey would never know.  
  
“I don’t know why you were so excited to give me candy, though.” Mikleo said, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at Sorey. “From your reactions before, I would have thought it was something worse…”  
  
“Oh! Well, it’s because I bought you a present!”  
  
In the blink of an eye, Mikleo closed off. His easy smile vanished and his eyes went hard as they regarded Sorey, his whole body unconsciously leaning away. Sorey fought to not lose his own smile, keeping himself still instead of going after Mikleo.  
  
“Sorey! You know I can’t—!”  
  
“You don’t even know what it is yet!”  
  
“And I don’t want to know!” Mikleo shouted back, back straight. Still, he didn’t move from the pelt, or rise to his feet. “You know what we think of these things, I can’t accept a gift from you, Sorey.”  
  
“But you can accept one from Boris?”  
  
That surprised Sorey as much as it surprised Mikleo, for Sorey never snapped back like that. Sorey felt bad about it almost instantly, the guilt nipping at the bottom of his heart, making him look away. “I—“  
  
“It’s different.” Mikleo said, also looking away. They were sitting close, but it felt like they were sitting with miles between them. “Boris was thanking me for the amulet. You have nothing to thank me for—“  
  
Sorey shook his head, scratching under his headband out of nervousness. “You make me amulets every other day, Mikleo!”  
  
A chilled breeze hit them softly, making them calm down. Mikleo looked down and away, fidgeting. His eyes were looking longingly at his mask. “You do so much for me already… The amulets are my way of giving you my thanks, not the other way around.”  
  
“…You have nothing to thank me for, either.” Sorey sighed, looking for Mikleo’s gaze. Mikleo returned it a second later. “Everything I do, I do it because I want to! Even buying you gifts.”  
  
Mikleo winced. “Sorey—“  
  
“Won’t you at least look at it?”  
  
For a moment, Mikleo hesitated, about to say no. But then he nodded with a small sigh and a soft blush, hiding himself under the falling parts of his veil. “Fine. For the Empyreans, you’re so pushy.”  
  
Sorey snorted, but he was already pulling the kit out, presenting it proudly to Mikleo. “Ta-da! For you, Mikleo!”  
  
Sorey watched as Mikleo leaned in curiously, gingerly picking up the kit and inspecting it thoroughly. He wasted no time in pulling the end of the leather ribbon, letting the kit roll in his hand.  
  
The pleased gasp Mikleo made was worth everything.  
  
“It’s a toolkit!” Sorey felt the need to explain as Mikleo’s hand and eyes swept over the kit almost reverently. He was too excited to stay in silence. “For your amulets!”  
  
“You—“ Mikleo whispered, not once looking up. “I—It has everything! How did you…?”  
  
“I went to town this morning, for a mission.” Sorey explained with a big, luminous smile. “I know you don’t have tools in your room and that’s why you always have tiny wounds and cuts on your fingers, from trying to do the amulets without them. I saw the stall with the tools and I thought… Well, you know.”  
  
“You… knew about my wounds.” Mikleo whispered, rubbing his hands together. The palest of the scars glinted under the moonlight.  
  
Sorey smiled softly. “Of course. They worry me, so I thought this would help! It’s not like you’re gonna stop making amulets in your room after all these years so haha—“  
  
There was a strange softness in Mikleo’s face as he looked down at the kit. Sorey hadn’t seen it before — something halfway between fondness and something new, something exciting. Sorey’s heart beat fast in response; he would buy thousands of toolkits if that made Mikleo look like that more often.  
  
“It’s… For Musiphe, Sorey, this must have cost you a fortune.”  
  
Sorey shrugged, leaning back on his hands. Mikleo liked it. He liked the present. “It was worth it!”  
  
Mikleo blinked rapidly, touching the tools softly, and then his face snapped up, searching for Sorey’s. “I cannot accept—!”  
  
“It’s yours!” Sorey leaned forward, enough to count all the colors on Mikleo’s eyes; the deep green, the bright bronze, the rose and white, all of them mingling with the violet that was Mikleo’s. “It’s not about accepting. It’s just how it is.”  
  
They held gazes for a long minute, willing the other to look away, eyes narrowed with stubbornness— just for Mikleo to burst out laughing, the sound clear and pure like water. Sorey’s heart soared; he adored that sound more than anything.  
  
“Thank you,” Mikleo sighed and, slowly, he hid his face in the kit, pressing the leather softly against his skin, careful of not hurting himself with the tools. “Thank you so much…”  
  
Mikleo’s voice sounded so choked up Sorey startled, sitting straight. By the sound of it, it almost looked like Mikleo was —  
  
“Mikleo! You’re not crying, are you!? Are you!? I’m so sorry, I—!”  
  
“Of course I’m not crying, you idiot!” Mikleo said. Sure enough, when he looked up Mikleo’s eyes were completely dry, and his smile was quirked on one side. “I’m just… happy. Thank you, Sorey.”  
  
Sorey’s grin grew, became more luminous. “No need! I’m just happy you liked it! But… I’m curious about something.” The air between them was calmer now, more like it usually was. No, scratch that — it was calmer, but it wasn’t like always. There was something in it, something in Mikleo’s eyes when he looked at Sorey, that made Sorey’s heart skip every other beat, and warmth find a resting place under his cheeks. He decided to keep it light. “How did you give Boris and Sergei the bracelets?” Sorey asked — and then his eyes grew big as he leaned forward to peer at Mikleo. “You didn’t sneak into the Tower, did you!?”  
  
Slow, with the nonchalance of a cat, Mikleo let himself fall back on the pelt, closing the toolkit and pressing it against his chest. “You sound scared, Sorey. Is there anything in the Tower that you don’t want me to discover—?”  
  
“Of course not!” Sorey laid down by Mikleo’s side, body turned to face him. “Come on, tell me! How did you do it!”  
  
Mikleo snorted, eyes on the stars. “I just carried the amulets around and prayed to run into Sergei. It took a bit, but it happened in the end. Not that interesting, huh?”  
  
Sorey laughed sheepishly. “I’m still glad you didn’t sneak in there!”  
  
“And why is that?”  
  
“Because you didn’t come visit me!” Sorey pretended to pout, resting his head on his arm. “I would have been very offended, you know.”  
  
“…Idiot.” Mikleo said fondly, and hugged the kit closer. “Alright, enough. Tell me about town.”  
  
With another big smile, Sorey did as asked.  


 

* * *

  
  
The moon was already making its descent in the sky when Sorey returned to the Tower. The night had started out cold and unpleasant, one of those nights that made you wish you had remembered to bring more clothes with you. But Sorey couldn't feel the cold anymore. It was as if he could still feel Mikleo's presence by his side, the heat of the lamp next to them, the nervous butterflies in his stomach and the pelt underneath his palm, despite all of them being long gone already. However, there was something that had remained, and that was a tingle in Sorey's thumb and forefinger, nagging and incessant, that kept turning all of Sorey's thoughts towards it.

They were the fingers that Sorey had used to feed Mikleo the candy. He hadn’t felt it before, because Mikleo’s voice and smile had outshone anything else around Sorey, but now that he was on the ground, walking away from Mikleo, he could feel it the same way he could feel his feathers bumping softly against his cheek and neck.

He thought of rubbing his fingers against his pants, but that felt sacrilegious, somehow.

So, as Sorey pushed the backdoor of the Tower open with his shoulder, he pressed the pad of his thumb against his mouth, at first lightly, as if trying to convince himself he wasn’t actually doing it — and then opened his lips, just a bit, so his pad rested encased by his mouth and giving his tongue the liberty to move softly against the calloused skin.

Sorey blushed furiously, briskly moving his hand back down, to his side. It had been just a moment of weakness. He would not do it again.

Even if the tingle was stronger now than before.

As Sorey got closer to his barrack, he started to hear hushed voices in the hallway leading to it, low and secretive. Sorey felt a spike of fear in his heart, shyness suddenly forgotten, and he pressed himself against the wall hoping that the sounds didn’t come from knights on patrol. If they were knights, they would know Sorey wasn’t on the roster tonight, and he would be in trouble —  
  
But there was no need to worry. The moment Sorey moved a little closer, never once stepping away from the wall, one of the voices rose in volume and he recognized it, making his shoulders drop.  
  
“C’mon bro, it’s gonna be fine!” Boris said, followed by a sound — Boris letting his hand fall on the other’s shoulder. You have everything under control, this shouldn’t even bother you.”  
  
“Of course it bothers me.” Sergei said back, words laced with a sigh. Sorey stepped away from the wall and walked closer. He didn’t want the brothers to think he was eavesdropping. “We usually get some warning, a couple of weeks, even months. But this? A day? How am I supposed to get everyone ready in a day?”  
  
“You are Captain fucking Strelka.” Boris replied. Sorey could see them now, standing in the middle of the dark hallway and facing each other, with Sergei’s arms crossed over his own chest and Boris’ hand on Sergei’s shoulder. The moonlight filtered through the window at their side, turning their brown hair a pale silver. “You can do this! And if you can’t, you have me to help!”  
  
Sergei groaned, but it was a bit more playful than before. “That doesn’t cheer me up at all.”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
“Are you guys okay?”  
  
At the sound of Sorey’s voice, both brothers turned to face him, the surprise on their faces making them look almost identical. But the first one to get out of it was Boris, who smiled slyly at Sorey as he lifted his chin.  
  
“Well, well, well. The duckling coming back from his nightly adventures.” Boris’ smile became a grin, full of connotations. “Did you have fun?”  
  
“Yeah!” Sorey smiled, not understanding when Boris snorted but letting it pass all the same. He turned towards Sergei, who still had a worried expression over his features. “Is everything okay? You look upset.”  
  
Sergei sighed. As he passed his hand over his face, rubbing softly, Sorey saw him wince. “You heard us?”  
  
Sorey shook his head. “No, I just arrived.” He said, and when Sergei sighed, he added: “Should I… not ask about it?”  
  
“No, no, it’s alright.” Sergei’s hand fell back to his side, but the line of his shoulders continued to be tense. He wasn’t wearing his gear anymore but night clothes, as if he had been pulled out of his bed by whatever it was that was bothering him. “You’ll know tomorrow, anyway.”  
  
Sorey frowned. “What will I know?”  
  
“You better get a full night of sleep and get ready, little duck.” Boris said as he crossed his arms behind his head. He looked like the perfect picture of nonchalance, but his eyes were worried as he regarded his brother from the corner of his eye. “Things are gonna get interesting around here.”  
  
“And why is that?”  
  
“Because, Sorey,” Sergei continued, voice low and exhaustion pulling the corners of his mouth down. “The King is coming.”


	5. Chapter 4: Don't think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope all of you are doing great! I hope you like today's chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it^^
> 
> ps: keep an eye out on name's (@defragmentise) twitter for this chapter's art. YOU'RE NOT GONNA REGRET IT <3<3<3
> 
> Happy reading!! <3<3

_The King is coming to Pendrago._

_The King is coming to the Academy._

Mikleo was about to have a heart attack. Even as he tried to keep himself distracted with the thousands of tasks they had to take care of before the King arrived, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The first visit from the King in almost a decade, and the Academy was the liveliest it had ever been, with all the mages moving around and working to make sure everything was Ready and Perfect.

The King was set to arrive the next day, in the morning. The announcement of his visit had thrown both the Academy and the Tower in absolute chaos; when usually both knights and mages had weeks, sometimes even months to prepare for the visit, this time they only had _hours_. The tension was thick in the air, and Mikleo could feel it weighing down on his chest.

Or maybe it was the fact that he was rushing down the stairs with thick, white cloths in his arms. It was a pile so high and heavy that Mikleo could barely see, but they had to be carried to the basements, where they would be washed and straightened by the Academy’s servants. In other circumstances, the mages wouldn’t lower themselves to carrying things around like that but… Time was running. They had been working all morning, and were continuing now into the early hours of the afternoon. They didn’t have time for that.

Mikleo was sweating so profusely his mask was starting to slip. Next to him, Lailah wasn’t much better. Mikleo could hear her panting softly, always a step behind Mikleo despite her legs being longer, and a part of him ached to grab the fabrics from her and carry them on his own so she could rest. But Lailah would have never allowed him to, and… Mikleo wasn’t sure he would have been able to handle it, either.

But even if he was uncomfortable, and his arms hurt almost as bad as his knees as he continued his rushed pace, there was something else that kept nagging at Mikleo’s mind; this would be the first time he would meet the king as a green mage. During the monarch’s first visit, Mikleo had been nothing more than another white among a sea of faceless mages, all of them covered from head to toe, undeserving of a single glance. But this time — the next day, Mikleo would be meeting the King’s gaze; he would stand proud and sure under his scrutiny, as a green mage, with the ceremonial mask that would allow his features to be seen.

Mikleo’s heart skipped a beat at the thought. He had come very far during his stay at the Academy, and it was time to show it.

Arriving to the basements was a blessing. The thick stones that formed the walls had kept the cold of the night in, and it bit at Mikleo’s skin even through his clothes, which he welcomed with a happy sigh. The moment they arrived, a couple of servants rushed to take the clothes from their arms, bowing so low that their noses almost brushed their knees and never once looking at the mages in the face. Mikleo saw them shiver when he and Lailah turned their masked faces, and he had to swallow down a bitter taste. It was different than the feeling they inspired in the knights; the knights moved away from mages the same way someone would recoil from a spider, or a poodle of unidentified goo — with mild distaste and a lot of distrust. The servants recoiled from mages in fear — as if the idea of being close to one was the most terrifying thing they could think off.

Mikleo would be lying if he said he was indifferent to that fact, that he didn’t care. But it always brought him memories he thought long forgotten — his uncle telling him not to meet other people’s eyes, for they would only feel fear, and fearful people were dangerous.

Mikleo didn’t know what he hated the most: remembering the fear of causing fear, or the memory of his uncle’s sad eyes —violet and devoid of magic— as he gazed down at him.

“Mikleo-san?” Lailah whispered close to him, so the servants wouldn’t hear. “Shall we go upstairs?

“Huh?” Mikleo’s head snapped up. “Oh, yes, of course.”

“Is something on your mind?” Lailah asked as they started their slow ascent up the stairs. They were both tired and slightly out of breath, and more work awaited them back in the main building. They had no reason to want to rush back.

“I am just nervous. About tomorrow.”

Lailah smiled behind her mask; Mikleo could tell from the warm tone in her voice. “That is not usual in you. You are usually very composed.”

“Well, it is the King.” Mikleo replied, feeling his cheeks heat up. “How could I be composed?”

There was a strange silence for a moment, oppressing enough to make Mikleo towards Lailah with a frown. It was strange for his friend to fall silent so suddenly. But in the end Lailah spoke… And Mikleo was left even more startled.

“He is just a man, Mikleo-san.” Lailah said, and her words were like claws seizing Mikleo’s heart. “A man made strong by thousands of others. He bleeds, just like the rest of us.”

“Lailah?” There was a knot in Mikleo’s throat, one that made it hard to breathe suddenly. Lailah’s words weren’t grave, but they still didn’t sit well in Mikleo’s chest. “How can you say that? The King is the reason why we even stand a chance against Kuba Empire. Without him, we would be—“

“I am sorry, Mikleo-san.” Lailah interrupted. Her voice was different in that moment, more subdued. It left Mikleo even more confused. “I did not mean to imply anything. Of course, I also wish for our King’s wellbeing. May he reign for centuries to come.”

“For centuries to come.” Mikleo repeated as it was custom, a bit more relaxed now. Lailah’s words were completely sincere and heartfelt. Still, Mikleo’s frown remained. He only hesitated for a second before asking: “But why did you say such a thing?”

Lailah, who had been going up the stairs at Mikleo’s pace with a hand on the wall, suddenly stopped. It took Mikleo a couple of steps to realize this, and he rushed to stop as well, looking down towards his friend. Lailah’s shoulders raised and fell rapidly under the edges of her veil; she was clearly out of breath, but that wasn’t the reason why she had stopped so suddenly.

“I believe in our King’s cause.” Lailah said, voice raised and proud. “And like many before me, I will give up my life for it. But that does not mean I will let myself be fooled by the legend. The King is a man, a man with the dream to make our kingdom a better place. Please, Mikleo-san, remember that tomorrow when you meet him.”

Mikleo didn’t understand. He fought to do so, of course, but he couldn’t find a meaning to Lailah’s words. What did it matter that the King was a man? He was the King, the pillar of their society, the one blessed by the Empyreans. Mikleo wanted to meet his gaze steadily and proudly, but there was no way he would be able to avoid the nerves crawling down his spine.

Still, he did not like to see Lailah distressed. So he leveled his friend with a look, smiled minutely behind his mask and nodded. “I will, Lailah. Do not worry about me.”

Lailah’s hand slid from the wall to join her other one in front of the folds of her clothes. Just like that, the conversation was over. “We are almost there. Shall we give it one last push forward?”

Mikleo nodded. “After you, Lady Lailah.”

It felt like an eternity, but they both finally made it up the stairs and out onto the grounds of the Academy. It was a beautiful, shiny day outside, but the cold breeze soon bit at Mikleo’s arms, chilling his sweaty skin. Not even the sun overhead managed to keep the cold at bay anymore, which only meant that winter was quickly approaching.

He would have to start carrying around his winter coat soon.

“Ah, what a beautiful day!” Lailah exclaimed, raising her joined hands to rest under her chin. “It would be wonderful if we could simply enjoy it…”

“Sadly, we have work to do.” Mikleo said, shaking his head. His veil floated softly in the breeze around his head, but the pins he had put in his hair in the morning kept it securely in place. He knew already that he would have to move around a lot that day, and it had been a good idea to stop the veil from bothering him. “Maybe we could—”

_“Feet apart, Sorey! Widen your stance!”_

_“Yes, Sir!”_

Mikleo’s head whipped to the side fast, words dying on the tip of his tongue, suddenly forgotten. He had heard Sorey’s name, and then his voice, he was sure of it. His eyes scanned the area quickly, but he was only able to see a group of knights training beyond the Academy grounds, in the training tracks of the Tower. He was too far away to distinguish any specific faces, though.

“It looks like the knights are already working hard.” Lailah’s voice was soft, tender. Mikleo didn’t look at her though, but kept his mask tilted forward. Maybe if he looked hard enough he would manage to catch a glimpse of Sorey… “Shall we take a closer look?”

“I—Huh!?”

Before Mikleo could react, Lailah was already walking towards the fence, hands joined before her and braid slowly swaying over her back. Mikleo blinked at her, watching as she walked closer to the knights with his mouth open… And then ran to catch up, not even remembering to lift the hem of his sumari up.

“Lailah! We cannot—!”

“We are not leaving the grounds, and we can take a little breather now! Come on, Mikleo-san. Are you not curious?”

Mikleo faltered. He did want to get closer; since the night before, since Sorey had given him the toolkit and had told him about how he had seen the wounds in his fingers… There had been a nagging, incessant, warm feeling coiling inside Mikleo’s heart. It felt similar to what Mikleo felt every night on the rooftop, around the time Sorey had to go back to the Tower — a need, subtle and sweet, to free wishes towards the sky so his time with Sorey didn’t have to end, so he could enjoy Sorey’s smile and warmth a little while longer.

But since Sorey had given him the toolkit, with such a sincere, loving smile, that need had turned visceral. Mikleo had been trying to squish it down since returning to his room the night before, to no avail.

And now Sorey was close, in plain sunlight, and Lailah was urging him towards him.

Deciding not to think too much about it, Mikleo moved closer to the knights.

As he walked, he started to distinguish the individual colors of the knights, instead of blurry knots of color. He saw Captain Strelka, with his golden fabrics over the regulatory kamui glinting in the sun as he surveyed with crossed arms the training of the knights. Mikleo realized then that it had been Sergei the one to shout Sorey’s name, his voice authoritative but not unkind.

The sound of swords clashing became louder, making Mikleo wince. It was a sound he wasn’t used to, and because of that it always made him pull a face and his tongue click against the roof of his mouth. Still, he didn’t stop; instead, he quickened his pace to reach Lailah’s side, eyes no longer on Sergei but on the rest of the knights.

He could see Sorey’s brown mop of hair already, bouncing over his headband without control as he moved on a feint, hand tight around the hilt of his sword. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were set, so focused on the fake battle he was fighting that he wasn’t even smiling. His face was serious like Mikleo had never seen it before, and something inside Mikleo jumped at the intensity in Sorey’s features. Still, though Mikleo didn’t recognize the man Sorey was fighting, Sorey was at ease with him, even when the other’s blade brushed against the side of Sorey’s arm, not close enough to tear the fabric of the long sleeves he was wearing, but enough to make Mikleo gasp softly and his hands clench tight into fists at his sides.

Mikleo had gotten glimpses of the knights’ training, before. Nothing more than that, because mages weren’t outside much, preferring to spend their time in the chilled hallways of the Academy, or in the warm grass of the Meadow. He had seen them run around the tracks, push themselves off the ground with their arms, legs extended behind them, as fast and as many times as they could; he had seen them do something Sorey always bemoaned about, where they were supposed to squat, jump so their legs were extended behind them, jump again into a squat and raise, as many times as Sergei ordered them to.

But this was the first time he had seem them practice sword fighting.

And Mikleo couldn’t take his eyes off Sorey.

It was hard to imagine his big, bulky friend —who resembled more a teddy bear than any other thing— being able to move with such finesse and elegance as Sorey was doing in that moment, green eyes flashing under the sun, the earrings he wore moving with the movements of his body. His muscles strained under the tight material of his shirt, bulging as Sorey pushed strength onto the swing of his arm and his sword traced an arc in the air—only for the edge of his blade to rest against the skin of his mate’s neck, both of them breathing heavily as they came to a stop.

The fake battle was over; Sorey had won.

“That was beautiful!” Lailah exclaimed, moving onto her tiptoes to look closely. She made as if she was going to hold onto the wired fence, but changed her mind on the last second. She, too, had been looking at Sorey.

Mikleo swallowed thickly as Sorey laughed and scratched the back of his neck. “I—“

“Okay, next!”

Prompted by Sergei’s order, a woman knight stepped forward, just as Sorey’s mate stepped back. There were four battles going on at once, all of them controlled by a captain that observed like a hawk, and a small line of knights waiting to fight in each one of them. Sorey stayed in his position as the woman stepped in front of him, sword in hand and chin raised.

Sorey’s smile banished, ready for another fight.

“It looks like some kind of exhibition.” Lailah commented, tilting her head. Her braid fell over her shoulder as she mused behind her mask. “Maybe it is for the King’s visit tomorrow? They must want to show their most talented knights…”

The sun overhead was making Mikleo’s skin prickle, sweat forming under the fabric of his clothes. Asking for a moment with a wave of his hand, Sorey thrusted his sword onto the sand by his feet and took his headband off, quickly twisting it around his wrist tightly and into a knot. Some tresses clung to his cheeks with sweat, and others fell over his eyes, which Sorey tried to move with a blow of air upwards.

Mikleo’s heart beat fast. There was something in the air, something powerful and intoxicating that turned Mikleo’s mind into a jumble of incoherent thoughts. Everything was too warm and too heavy, but he could only continue to stare at Sorey — Sorey, with his bright, intelligent eyes and his skin, tanned from the sun. Mikleo wondered if it would feel as warm as it looked, if it would be soft to the touch like Mikleo’s own… or maybe it would feel rough, pulled tight over muscles that Mikleo did not possess himself.

For a second, Mikleo almost saw himself walking to Sorey. But there was something among the knights, a feeling of some sort, something that was warm and welcoming… but only towards their own. They were protective of each other, and they were obviously projecting that protectiveness towards Sorey, claiming him as theirs. It scared Mikleo and made him want to rush to Sorey in equal parts, his own feeling of protectiveness burning brighter than a star.

And then Sorey pulled the tight shirt over his head, letting it fall to the ground to reveal more of that tanned, slightly damp skin, and Mikleo only felt like running away.

Mikleo’s knees trembled, his heart slamming against his ribs and making it hard to breathe. Sorey was laughing at the wolf whistles he got from his peers, men and women alike, and his muscles moved elegantly once again when he threw the shirt at someone’s face, making more laughter arise. But soon he was picking his sword up again, smiling apologetically at the woman in front of him, who shrugged and adopted a defensive stance. The battle was about to begin once again, and the atmosphere changed.

Mikleo had to leave. Now.

Tearing his eyes off Sorey’s chest, Mikleo turned around, back to the knights and face aflame behind his mask. Where had the chill air of minutes before gone? Why couldn’t his heart slow down, so his lungs had space enough for him to breathe? Flashes of Sorey’s inviting, warm skin kept flashing through his mind, of his smile that was brighter than the sun, of his serious expression that made him look older, more mature. And those flashes only made Mikleo’s condition worse, his baggy clothing suddenly too tight around his torso and neck.

He couldn’t breathe. Mikleo couldn’t breathe.

“Mikleo-san—?”

Lailah’s voice sounded worried and sweet, but Mikleo paid her no mind. With a soft apology Mikleo rushed back to the Academy, leaving Lailah behind as she raised her voice at him, asking him to wait. But Mikleo’s eyes were only on the cold shadows visible past the entrance, on the safety it would bring him. He knew that the moment he stepped back into the castle, the moment he was surrounded by the stone walls, he would be safe from those thoughts, and the heat coiling low on his stomach would be extinguished.

 _Make it stop,_ Mikleo begged, gasping as he willed his feet to run faster. _Please, please, make it stop._

But it didn’t, and even once Mikleo was back in the silence of his own room, he could still see Sorey in the darkness of his eyelids.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t like Mikleo didn’t know what was going on. He knew. He was human, at his core — he was a man, in every sense of the word. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, but he had thought… He had hoped he was over it.

He had to be.

But he wasn’t. He clearly, clearly wasn’t.

 _I don’t have time for this_ . Mikleo thought, picking up a set of clean clothes and slipping his mask back on. He had taken it off the moment he had entered his room, rushing into his small bathroom to splash some water onto his face, and then he had been too upset to put it back on. _The King is coming tomorrow, I cannot let these feelings consume me. I can’t—_

Shaking his head, Mikleo held his clothes close against his chest and walked away, definitely not looking at the loose floorboard where he had hidden Sorey’s toolkit.

Because that was it. It was the toolkit’s fault. Since the night before, since Sorey had given it to him with such an earnest, sweet expression, Mikleo hadn’t been able to think about any other thing. He had felt a tenderness towards his friend that wasn’t unknown, but it had been more intense than usual. And now this—

Mikleo shook his head, feet taking him blindly towards his destination. _Enough of that. Enough._

He had to find another thing to concentrate on, and he had to do so now.

The mages —as opposed to the knights, who only had communal showers— had little, private bathrooms within their own rooms, equipped even with a small shower. But once in awhile, and following a strict rotating shift, mages were allowed to use the thermal bath underneath the Academy, where they were attended by trained servants in any way they might need.

Mikleo didn’t really enjoy the bath much. He always felt uncomfortable in the presence of the bath boys, with their eyes never leaving Mikleo’s naked body, and their gloved hands rubbing scented soap over his skin with soft sponges. But he enjoyed the solace, and the hot water against his skin; it made him feel at peace, the way he couldn’t feel at any other time of the day.

With the King visiting the following day, many mages would forgo their trip to the bath until later at night. So Mikleo took the chance and sneaked in there, sending a small apology to the Empyreans above for turning his back on his duties. But he really needed the peace and quiet.

Mikleo needed a distraction.

He was greeted at the door by a bath boy, who bowed at him and opened the door for Mikleo with barely a glance at his mask. The bath boys were called like that, but truth was Mikleo had been attended by people of his same age or older than him, all of them young but never enough to actually be boys or girls. It was just a way to refer to them, the same way some of the eldest blue mages called anyone below their level ‘child’, no matter their age.

So the bath boy guided Mikleo to a small, warm room where he undressed alone. He unwrapped the tight fabric from around his torso first, folding it and letting it rest on top of the table for that purpose. Then he unclasped the hook of his necklace, and the stones clinked together softly as he let it by the fabric’s side, careful of not letting the thin threads of silver between stones get knotted ones with the others. And lastly, Mikleo slid the rest of the sumari over his head, wincing when the fabric got caught with the veil, and the pins in his hair made pain flare on his scalp.

In the end, he stood completely naked in the middle of the room, with only his mask still over his face. For a moment, Mikleo observed the pale, thin skin that covered his arms, his stomach, his thighs. He followed the tracery of blue veins underneath with his eyes, and then he did so again with the tip of his finger.

“We are ready, my Lord.” Someone said behind the door, voice soft and emotionless.

“I will be right there.” Mikleo replied, letting his hands fall to his sides.

As Mikleo had expected, the baths were deserted. It was a room made of white marble walls, columns separating each pool of hot, clean water. The floor was made of stones and polished crystals that reflected the orange lights of the lamps that hung from the columns. Not a sound could be heard in the room but the sloshing of water in the pools, and Mikleo’s and the boy’s feet softly hitting the tiles with every step.

The bath boy guided Mikleo to a small pool towards the end of the bath room, a small but deep one, with a seat against the farther wall, under the water.. The bath boy left before they even reached the edge, but Mikleo continued on until his toes were testing the water’s warmth, a small sigh escaping from his lips when the water lapped at his ankle.

It was perfect, as always.

Carefully, Mikleo lowered himself into the pool with another sigh, wincing a bit at the heat. Steam was starting to make the tips of his hair curl against his mask and back of his neck, probably making it look like a big, fluffy ball of cotton, but Mikleo didn’t care. There was no need for composure in the baths; even if the anonymity factor still prevailed — he couldn’t allow the bath servants to see his face, hence his mask —, the baths were where Mikleo could relax, not caring about his looks, or if anything was out of place. Not even in the rooftop with Sorey could Mikleo feel this free. With him there was always the fear of touching, of his eyes lingering, of his impulses taking control.

But not there in the baths. In there, rules weren’t broken but they were bent, to the point that sometimes Mikleo thought—

The doors opened somewhere behind Mikleo when his body grew accustomed to the heat of the water, cutting his line of thought. Mikleo didn’t turn; he simply learnt his head back against the edge of the pool, mask tilted towards the stony roof and body floating without breaking the surface. Someone was approaching Mikleo, the sound of their naked soles the only thing audible in the otherwise silent room.

“Good afternoon.” The bath servant said, and Mikleo opened his eyes to find a young man kneeling by the edge of the pool. When Mikleo tilted his face towards him, the man bowed his head slightly as another greeting, and said nothing else.

“…You may address me as ‘Lord’.” Mikleo said, sharp and to the point.

The bath boy was unfazed by his tone. “My Lord. If you are ready, I shall begin.”

Mikleo nodded, and crossed the pool with slow steps to stand in front of where the bath boy awaited, the water sloshing softly against his collarbones. Next to the bath boy there was a wicker basket, full of white pieces of soap that smelt nicely of different herbs. But what was most important were the pair of gray leather gloves that rested on top of them. Their palms, however, were made of a material similar to the sponges mages had back on their own showers, soft and nice to the touch. Mikleo gave them a look, and the man moved without a word — he picked the gloves up and slid them over his own hands, first one, then the other. It wasn’t until both gloves were on the man’s hands that Mikleo turned around, back to the edge of the pool.

The first touch was always the worst. Not because Mikleo was repulsed by it, but because it was hard for Mikleo not to jump at it. He knew it was coming, was used to the feel of the spongy glove against his naked skin, but that didn’t mean he was used to the feel of another person’s hand on him, no matter the fabric that surrounded it.

The bath boy said nothing, and patiently waited for Mikleo to return to his position against the edge of the bath. When Mikleo let a calming breath out through his lips, the bath boy got back to work, slowly rubbing the soapy glove against the curve of Mikleo’s shoulder.

It took a few moments, but Mikleo finally relaxed onto the touch, letting his head fall forward until his hair obscured the sides of his mask. The glove was tracing circles on his back, slowly distending the tight muscles under Mikleo’s skin, the sloshing of water mixing with the sounds of Mikleo’s relaxed breathing.

It really felt nice, in the end. After such a long day of tasks—ones which Mikleo wasn’t used to—, after a long night up on the rooftop with Sorey, and then sleeping little to nothing because he couldn’t stop playing around with the toolkit… And yes, fine, after the swirling of emotions that watching Sorey train had formed inside of Mikleo’s body too, transforming him in ball as tight as wire…

Mikleo sighed. Even if mages didn’t have such beliefs about personal gratification, Mikleo would still not accept Sorey’s presents. Because they always made him feel too warm, the feeling spreading from his core to the tips of his fingertips, making his smiles easier to produce, helping his shoulders to relax. Sorey brought life and sweetness to Mikleo’s life, made Mikleo wish to climb down the facade of the Academy with him and explore the world, see all the places Sorey had already seen. To stop living through Sorey’s words and start living for himself.

And that… that was so, so dangerous.

Because Mikleo was a mage. And all those things that he wished for clashed with the things he had wanted since arriving at the Academy: to protect his kingdom, to protect the knights, to protect his King. All of those things were just as important as the others, for Mikleo. But there was no choice to make, not really. Mikleo would always choose the Academy, always choose to use the earthpulses to make Glenwood a better place.

Always choose to make things worse for himself by meeting Sorey every night.

The glove massaging his back moved over his right shoulder, thumb pressing down over the dip of his collarbone and making water slide over his chest and downwards. Mikleo sighed as the fingers splayed over his breastbone, moving his head back until it was resting against the edge of the pool.

Honestly… Sorey made everything so difficult. With his smiles, his deep voice, his warm skin— and Mikleo didn’t even _know_ if his skin was truly warm; he had only felt it when he sat close to him, as if the warmth from the sun had stayed under Sorey’s skin all day and he liberated it back into the universe at night. But beyond that, his skin did look warm, and nice, despite the roughnesses in the palms of Sorey’s hands. Those big, strong hands that managed to brandish a sword with the same delicacy with which Sorey held a small bird in his palms.

Mikleo’s mind went hazy as he felt the gloved hand travel over his skin. He felt it press against the softness of his abdomen, traveling upwards to scratch at the dips of his chest with the very tips of his fingers, rubbing softly against excited nipples. A sigh escaped from Mikleo’s mouth, low and shaky, and his eyes — that had fallen closed at some point — fluttered without opening them all the way.

There was no bath around Mikleo anymore. He could taste the summer air in his tongue, feel the softness of the pelt under his back and hands. And over his front, a curious hand that explored thoroughly as much of Mikleo’s skin as it could, as if it had been as starved for contact as Mikleo had always felt.

Mikleo swallowed thickly, heart beating so fast he could hear it pumping in his ears. “I—“

“ _Don’t think.”_ A voice as familiar as his own whispered, begged, and Mikleo whimpered softly. _“Let us have this, at least.”_

The hand, that had been idly following the line of a collarbone, started its descent at a leisurely pace. Mikleo knew he was sweating before the hand started to trace the path of a sweat drop with a strong finger; there was no sign of the usual chill air of the rooftop, no sign of the restrictions that Mikleo’s _sumari_ and mask wordlessly created. It was just him, lying naked on the pelt, the heat, the hand teasing the skin around his navel and the myriad of thoughts that kept flashing through Mikleo’s mind, all of them drowned by a need that was like nothing Mikleo had ever felt before.

Skimming over the skin lightly, maddeningly lightly, the hand followed the line of Mikleo’s hip downwards, and Mikleo’s whole body trembled, rocked against the touch to get more of it, more of its warmth.

“ _Mikleo,”_ the voice said, so low and secretive that it sounded like his name was being whispered into his ear. “ _Mikleo—“_

“Sor—“

The way each letter rolled out of his tongue made Mikleo’s mind freeze, his whole body soon joining it. He moved suddenly, away from the hand reaching between his legs, away from the edge of the bath, from the bath boy that looked at him with surprise in every curve of his features. Mikleo breathed heavily, chest heaving as his mind tried to catch up to what his body was trying to tell him. There was an ache low in his stomach, and his knees had turned to jelly there were he stood in the middle of the pool. The water he had pushed when he had moved away was now slowly sloshing back against his middle, too softly for it to extinguish the fire in Mikleo’s skin.

Mikleo raised a shaky hand to cover the lower part of his mask, realizing what he had almost done.

He wished he was wearing clothes in that moment, so he had something to pull at. He felt like he was choking.

“My lord…?”

The confused voice of the bath boy — nothing at all like the familiar one from his imagination — brought Mikleo back from his despair. His confusion was understandable; he had probably felt the outline of Mikleo’s hardness even through the glove, even though he hadn’t really gotten to touch Mikleo fully. And truth be told, in any other circumstance, Mikleo wouldn’t have moved away. Because those touches had nothing to do with lust, not even with sex. It was a necessity some mages —Mikleo among them— felt, and the bath boys and girls provided a solution to them, nothing more.

But things changed if Mikleo let his own thoughts wander. If his mind turned the impersonal hand of the bath boy into Sorey’s tender one, if it turned the sound of the water into his voice, and the warmth of the room in that of his body… Mikleo couldn’t pretend it was just routine, anymore.

And he hated it. He hated it so much—

“It is all right.” Mikleo said. He tilted the mask towards the man, but he closed his eyes behind it, trying to control his breathing. He wasn’t making a good job at it. “I do not need of your services today. You may retire.”

“But, my Lord—“

“ _You may retire._ ” Mikleo repeated, more forcefully this time, and the bath boy obliged without further hesitation.

Mikleo kept his eyes closed until he heard the door open and close, a quick, cold gust of wind hitting his skin and making goosebumps rise on his skin. Taking a few deep breaths, Mikleo raised his hands to the mask and, with shaky fingers, slowly removed it from his face. The interior was beaded with sweat and steam water, but Mikleo didn’t even realize it; he had his gaze lost in the blackness behind the mask, hair falling over his eyes and sticking to his cheeks, hiding his expression from the world.

His shoulders were tense, lean muscle and pointy bones pressing against the skin of his back.

Without looking up, Mikleo let the mask rest by the edge of the pool, safely away from anything that might harm it.

And then he let himself sink to the bottom, the water around him muffling the anguished groan that came out of his mouth, right from the confines of his chest.

 

* * *

 

With the lethargy one felt after spending too much time submerged in hot water, Mikleo returned to his room before anyone could find him down in the baths. The sun had already set beyond the knight’s Tower when Mikleo closed his door behind himself, letting a long sigh fill the silence of the room as he did so. His room was dark and cold, which his tender skin appreciated.

He only allowed himself two deep breaths against the door before he started to move. He lit a match and turned the lamp by his table on, basking the whole space in a warm, orange light. The table was a big, wooden desk that rested by the only window in the room, all of it scattered with amulet pieces and sketch papers with different designs. For a second, a tempting white sheet seemed to spark something inside Mikleo, but he quickly turned his back to it. He was too tired to pretend like he wasn’t actually tired.

Then he took his mask off and left it by his bedside, the side with the green lines facing upwards.

Mikleo trailed the tip of his index finger down one of the spirals, until his finger bumped against the wood of the table, beyond the edge of the mask. It was hard to keep his thoughts clear and organized when some of them kept trying to push their way to the forefront of his mind, like a stampede of wild horses. He had to keep them away, no matter what, or else…

Or else Mikleo could act on them.

A knock on his window made him lift his head abruptly and turn around, heart skipping a beat. There was nothing on it, but Mikleo sighed and went to it anyway, already knowing what he’d find. And sure enough, the small roll of paper was waiting there for him, falling onto his open palm.

Mikleo closed the window as he unrolled the paper with one hand. The same three words as every day (‘See you tonight?’) greeted Mikleo after a second, scribbled quickly and without too much care.

Mikleo regarded it for a long moment, watched it rest against his fingers… just to grab it tightly and take it with him to his desk, where he sat and quickly sank his quill on ink before writing on the back of Sorey’s note, handwriting neat and polished, if a bit too small.

**_‘I cannot. Too much to prepare for tomorrow.’_ **

It felt wrong to be so harsh, so plain. But it wasn’t like Mikleo could give too many details, in case the note was found. Still, his chest felt heavy as he blew on the ink to dry it, careful of not messing the writing.

It was true that they shouldn’t be up until late in the rooftop if the King was coming the next morning, but that wasn’t the reason why he wasn’t meeting Sorey that night. Mikleo knew, as he went to the window once again and whistled softly into the night air, that he was being a coward. If he met Sorey after what had happened in the baths, he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Mikleo wasn’t sure of _what_ exactly he would do, but he didn’t want to find out.

Better to hide those spikes of need for himself, handle the pain, than make it worse by seeing Sorey that night.

It was incredibly unfair, but Mikleo needed it.

He had to keep his mind clear for the King’s visit the next day.

Mao arrived not even a minute later, his long wings making Mikleo’s hair move softly. He was probably imagining it, but the bird seemed to be wearing a disapproving look as he regarded Mikleo, the feathers of his neck and chest slightly ruffled and standing on point.

Mikleo sighed, toying with the note with one hand.

“Come on, don’t look at me like that.” Mikleo said with a roll of his eyes. “I’m protecting him too, you know?”

Mao cawed softly, the sound full of annoyance. He narrowed his eyes at Mikleo and scratched the windowsill with a long talon, making an awful noise that made Mikleo wince.

“Just take the note already.” Mikleo folded the note, Sorey’s writing facing outwards, and dangled the small paper in front of the falcon’s beak. “Make sure it reaches him. Aubergine.”

With another nasty glare, Mao made to grab the note with his beak — but changed his course in the last moment and pecked Mikleo’s fingers instead, with enough force to make Mikleo yelp. Mikleo made to grab the falcon, an annoyed grunt already on his tongue, but Mao was faster and slid through his fingers, note firmly held in his beak.

“Stupid eggplant!” Mikleo groaned, watching as a bead of blood bloomed on his index finger. He quickly put it on his tongue, sucking on it to stop it from bleeding. “Shtupid, shtupid!”

Mikleo closed the window angrily, turning his back on it and sliding down the wall until he sat down on the floor. He knew he wasn’t mad at the falcon, not really, but he couldn’t help but throwing his anger on the bird. If anything, he was mad at himself. For saying no to Sorey when he had done nothing wrong. When all the confusing feelings were Mikleo’s and Mikleo’s alone, and he was being selfish by hiding until he could forget about them.

He knew for experience that it wouldn’t be easy, though.

This hadn’t been the first time Mikleo had thought about Sorey in that way. At first it was innocuous — it was simply Mikleo finding a way to hide his shyness over being touched by someone he didn’t know, using the comfortability his best friend gave him. It was much easier to be touched in such an intimate way for Mikleo if it was someone he trusted.

But once Mikleo understood that his sessions in the baths were just a simple procedure, thinking about Sorey felt different. It felt dirty, as if he was doing something awful by thinking of him. The feelings those moments arose in him — hot and pleasurable and so, so tender — had not a place in Mikleo’s life. In a mages’ life.

It had been years since Mikleo had thought of Sorey like this, unwanted and unexpected.

He had been doing so well in hiding his feelings before today—

Another clink on his window made Mikleo look up, eyebrows furrowed. Sorey never replied to his negatives, knowing nothing he could say would make Mikleo change his mind. So he got up slowly, surprised to find Mao once again on his windowsill, not flying away but standing still, note on his beak. For a second, Mikleo thought the falcon was returning his own note, but the paper was spotless on the outer part, only slightly crumpled there were Mao was holding it.

With pursed lips, Mikleo opened the window and regarded the bird sternly. Mao gave him an unimpressed look in return.

“You made me bleed.” Mikleo told it, as if it was the greatest offense. Mao simply blinked at him. “Oh yeah? We’ll see if I give you treats next time!”

Mao blinked again, and then made a soft noise, moving closer. Mikleo regarded him, suspicious, but soon relaxed when Mao rubbed the note against his fingers.

“Is this your way of saying sorry?” A smile pulled at Mikleo’s lips, making him shake his head. “Or do you just want to go to sleep already?” The moment Mikleo took the note form the falcon, Mao took off, flying away and behind the Tower like every night. There was an aviary in the upper levels of the Academy, with different carrier birds that the high level mages used to stay in contact with the King’s palace in Hyland, but Mao never slept there. He usually slept somewhere in the Tower, but Mikleo had no idea where. The only thing he knew was that it wasn’t in Sorey’s room.

After closing his window for what he hoped would be the last time for the night, Mikleo moved to his bed, sitting down on it. The note was tiny in his hand, folded a couple of times over so Mikleo could only see a faint shadow there were Sorey’s ink had spilled a bit. He opened it carefully, and was surprised at the lines scribbled with careful handwriting, but still Sorey’s nonetheless.

‘ ** _Don’t worry about tomorrow! You’re gonna amaze the King, I’m sure of it. (And don’t freak out, Mao won’t let this note reach anyone else!). So stop overthinking! I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night!’_ **

Mikleo swiped his thumb over the paper, smiling without meaning to. He could hear Sorey’s voice as clearly as if he was right beside him, giving him the encouraging words in person. And just like that, the pressure that had been residing in Mikleo’s chest all afternoon evaporated, his heart beating easily once again inside his ribcage. Mikleo eyed the candle by his desk, already moving his hand to burn the note like every day — and changed his mind before the flame could touch the paper. Instead, he let himself fall on his bed, on his back, legs dangling over the side and arm raised over his face to read the note once again.

He hadn’t stopped smiling once.

If Sorey believed in him, Mikleo could do anything.

‘ _What are you doing to me?’_ Mikleo thought, pressing the note against his chest.

He fell asleep like that, letting Sorey’s words wash the nerves of the day away, and the candle burning softly inside the lamp.


	6. Chapter 5: Long live the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I'm so sorry for the delay, but finals are coming up, and I'm afraid updates are going to be slow from here till July! But I'll try my best to avoid taking too long <3<3
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Happy reading!

Sorey watched the sun rise on the day of the King’s visit. He did so from the window of his barrack, back to the beds of his friends and legs dangling in the air, beyond the windowsill. The stone underneath was cold to the touch, the places where Sorey’s body heat didn’t reach covered by a thin layer of frost. Winter was quickly approaching.

It would be a sunny day; the mages had prayed for it to be like so.

Sorey wasn’t worried about the King’s visit like others were — many looked for the King’s approval, others simply hoped to impress the King enough to get a recommendation to enter the Royal Guard. But Sorey didn’t care about that. He was content with his duty there at the Tower. Battles, regional missions, protecting the Academy… Sorey never joined the Platinum Knights out of some sense of duty towards the King; he did it to protect Mikleo, and to stay with him. He didn’t need anything else.

Still, there was something that _did_ bother Sorey, and that was the suddenness of the King’s arrival. The King barely visited the Academy grounds, and when he did so it was with a lot of pompousness and regality, according to Sergei. So a rushed visit, with little to no time to prepare, had to have a reason why. And that was what had made Sorey wake up too early, making him unable to fall back asleep and prompting him to start getting ready.

The sooner the day started, the sooner it would end, that’s how Sorey saw it.

Although, truth be told, Sorey didn’t know what to expect out of that day. He had never seen the King up close — he had been too young during the King’s last visit, and renegaded to the back of the knights’ group as Sergei and the others stood proudly at the front. The plan was to attend the parade at the moment of the King’s arrival, and then prepare for the exhibitions during the afternoon, after the King had been toured around the Academy. Sorey had been elected as one of the knights that would battle against the others for the King’s amusement, as some sort of show of strength.

Sorey didn’t mind; he wasn’t even nervous about it. He just wanted to know _why—_

“Ruffling your feathers, duckling?” A voice whispered behind him, making Sorey look over his shoulder. Boris was rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand as he sat on his bed, legs still tangled in the sheets. His chestnut colored hair was a wild mess, sticking up in all directions on the back, and falling over one eye on the front. It wasn’t too much of a difference compared to his usual style, but it still made Sorey snort.

“Just thinking.” Sorey replied with a shrug, directing his gaze back towards the outside. The Academy stood right at the other side of the Tower, so Sorey had a magnificent view of the town of Pendrago in the distance and, even beyond that, the high mountains of Rayfalk, looking as small as Sorey’s toenail and already showing the first signs of snow on them. “About the King’s visit and all that.”

“…Don’t tell me you’re nervous now.” Boris said, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the other knights. His footsteps as he approached Sorey were completely silent. “You were fine yesterday. Even a little bit cocky, I would say, but what can you expect from a duck—“

“You know why the King is coming, don’t you?” Sorey blurted, turning towards his friend once again. Boris had reached his side, letting his shoulder rest against the wall by Sorey’s left. Once Sorey’s question was in the air, Boris crossed his arms over his chest, looking outside. The early morning air messed with his fine hair some more. “I’m not asking you to tell me.” Sorey continued, tearing his eyes away from Boris’ suddenly closed off face. “I know that if I had to know, you would’ve told me already. I just want to know… is _there_ a reason for this? Or am I just looking too much into it?”

Boris sighed. He still wasn’t looking at Sorey — his pale green eyes were on the horizon, on the quickly rising sun and pink sky — but when he lifted a hand to push his own hair back, Sorey saw his eyes were soft. “You’re too smart for your own good, kid.” Boris said finally, turning his head to look at Sorey. “It’s not that we didn’t want to tell you. But Sergei didn’t want to tell us before getting more confirmation. I just happened to make him spill it out.”

“Confirmation?” Sorey asked with a frown.

“Not even Serg knows why the King’s coming.” Boris admitted, fingers drumming on his own biceps. “He has his suspicions, of course…” He threw a look around the room, making sure the others were still asleep, before continuing in an even lower voice. “Three hours before the announcement of the King’s arrival reached the Academy, a messenger from the north arrived by horse. He brought news that a group of twenty of our knights had been killed near the northern border in a surprise attack.”

Sorey jumped, his heart beating wildly in his chest. “Twenty—!?”

“Keep your _voice down._ ” Boris muttered in between his teeth, looking around with big eyes. “Sorey, this is serious. It can’t be known.”

“What, why?” Sorey shook his head. Why was the death of fellow knights —of _family—_ being hidden? “The others should know, we should—“

A sad expression crossed Boris’ features. When he spoke, Boris was once again looking outside, not able to meet Sorey’s inquisitive gaze. “There is no confirmation, as I told you before. But Sergei thinks the King wants it covered to avoid terror. Twenty knights killed in a battle is almost expected… But in a surprise attack in the north, in one of the most secure regions in all of the country? During the winter? You see what I’m getting at, don’t you?”

Sorey swallowed. He did see. The north of Glenwood was probably the safest place in all kingdom, despite Kuba Empire making border with all of the north-west region. And that was because, during the winter, the mountains of Rayfalk were a death trap. From the first snow to well into the Spring, the northern regions were completely besieged by nature itself, layers upon layers of ice and snow making it impossible to reach Hellawes, the northern capital, from both sides of the mountain. During the last few years, many people —only those who could really afford to make such a long journey — had emigrated to the north, worried about the war and looking for more safety. A small portion of knights lived there during the winter, departing from the Tower during the fall and not returning until the early months of summer.

But now a high number of them had been killed, despite winter being almost around the corner.

And that could only mean one thing.

“Kuba Empire is going to take the north.” Sorey muttered. The balls of his feet hit the outer wall of the Tower, the sound adding more weight to his words.

“Again, there’s no confirmation.” Boris pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. He looked like he was trying to see something in the distance, in the direction of Rayfalk. “It could simply be bandits, or an isolated case, but…”

“But you don’t believe so.” Sorey finished for Boris, letting his shoulders slump. His heart clenched painfully. So many people lived up in the north…

“No.” Boris sighed too, uncrossing his arms and letting them rest against his sides. “I don’t.”

A long silence followed, only interrupted by the occasional snore coming from the other knights. Soon, the bells in the Academy would ring and the day would start, but for now Sorey allowed himself a minute to think. If this information was spread — if people learnt that there was a chance Glenwood would lose the north — panic _would_ ensue.

The last thing the country needed was to be thrown into such chaos.

“I won’t say a thing.” Sorey said with a little nod. It hurt a bit to say so — he wanted to spring into action, after all, even if he knew deep inside that nothing could be done anymore —, but he meant it. “You can trust me.”

Boris snorted. Quick as lighting, one of his hands shot up and forward to grab Sorey’s hair, giving it a soft pull and then messing it with his palm. Sorey protested and pushed against Boris, who simply laughed. “I know I can, duckling. That’s why I told you.”

Before Sorey could say anything else, the Academy bells started to chime, their soft sound making Sorey smile. Somewhere in the Academy, Mikleo would be groaning because he didn’t want to wake up.

Same as Sorey’s brothers, actually. Behind Sorey, groans and bemoans filled the silence of the room as the knights rose, some using a more colorful vocabulary than others. And then there was Mason, who simply rolled over so he was lying on his stomach, muttering into his pillow.

“Mm… Five more minutes, Nat…”

Next to Sorey, Boris smirked. Under Sorey’s amused gaze, Boris tiptoed to his bed, silently grabbing his pillow and tiptoeing back to Mason’s bed. Sorey twisted on the windowsill, swinging his legs back inside the room so as not to miss anything. Lucas and Kyme were awake by then too, observing the scene unfold with weary eyes. No one had to ask them to be quiet.

“Wake up, my looooove…” Boris said by Mason’s ear, using a high, horrendous voice that was supposed to sound like Natalie’s, but that only managed to sound like nails on a chalkboard. But Mason didn’t seem to notice. He mumbled in his sleep, nuzzling his pillow as a stupid smile made his mouth curl upwards.

“Just a few more minutes…”

Boris raised the pillow over his own head with one hand, ready to strike. “Maaaaaasoooooooon~”

To Sorey and the others’ amusement, Mason frowned. Boris’ high voice didn’t even fool a sleepy Mason. “Natalie…?”

In the blink of an eye, Boris let his pillow fall on Mason’s body, striking him mercilessly again and again as the others laughed and Mason tried to escape. Mason shouted and groaned, kicking with his legs when Boris climbed onto the bed to continue with his one-sided pillow fight. Sorey and the others laughed hard; if the knights at the adjoining rooms hadn’t woken up, they surely had by now.

“Boris, you idiot! I’m gonna make you pay back!”

“Mason, why won’t you love meeeeeeee~!” Boris continued with his falsetto voice, smacking Mason in the face.

“Okay, that’s it—!”

Not caring about Boris being bigger than him, Mason lounged, grabbing his own pillow and hitting Boris back with it. They tumbled for a moment and fell to the ground, pillows forgotten in exchange of their open hands.

“Okay, kids, calm down.” Kyme stepped in, sliding off his own bed and standing next to the fighting idiots. “Is this the show you want to give your King?”

Pinning Mason down with the weight of his body, Boris looked up, tilting his chin a bit to the side to allow his hair to part and be able to look at Kyme. There was a faint shadow of stubble over his jaw, and that added to his messy hair gave him a wicked air when he winked and said: “He can join, if his majesty wants.”

Lucas let out a guffaw. He didn’t seem too keen on getting out of his bed. “I would pay to see you asking that to the King, you know.”

Boris’ eyes flashed, like a cat’s upon spotting a pray. “Two hundred thousand gald.”

With a strangled sound, Lucas moved onto his knees, his sheets falling and revealing him in all his nudity. No one even batted an eye. “Two hundred— Dude, you’re crazy!”

“Crazy, but not stupid.” Boris moved onto his feet with a swift movement, extending a hand to help Mason up before his friend could so much as blink. Mason rolled his eyes but took the hand, smirking even before Boris passed his arm over his shoulders and pressed Mason against his side, all the fighting from before forgotten as quickly as it had started. “Kyme is right, though. We gotta prepare for the royal visit, gentlemen.”

“I’m ready.” Sorey said, feeling his cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing.

Boris dedicated him a toothy smile. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

“This is cronyism!” Lucas screamed, laying back down. “I cannot work like this!”

Walking slowly towards Lucas’ bed, Boris smiled diabolically. “Are you sure, Lucas? _Are you really sure?”_

Sorey laughed as another fight broke out, this time between Boris and Lucas, who didn’t even get to their pillows before they were wrestling on the ground. Sorey hadn’t forgotten Boris’ words from before, their weight and importance.

But he could breathe a little bit easier now.

 

* * *

 

They were going to receive the King and his delegation by the gates, where the single path diverged to form the grounds of the Academy and the Tower. As per tradition, the King would visit the Academy first, where he would reside for as long as he wanted, so both knights and mages positioned themselves at both sides of the path leading to the white castle, facing each other. Considering the number of mages was much lower than the one of the knights, the mages would position themselves on a single line from the gates to the Academy, leaving a small space between them to avoid contact, while the knights would stand at the other side of the path, facing them, with the strongest knights on the front line and the rest crowded together right behind them.

That year, Sorey would stand next to Boris for the first time at the front, instead of at the back. He wasn’t nervous, but excited. The knights were a loud ball of energy around him, all of them chatting excitedly, most of them commenting on the evening’s exhibition that would soon take place, and that added to Sorey’s own excitement. In the evening, he would get to battle his brothers and sisters in a friendly but intense fight, to push aside all the dark thoughts the war inspired in him and concentrate for a while in simply having fun.

Sorey couldn’t wait.

It was strange to look around and not see the usually bright colors of the knights catching his eye. And that was because the usual _kamui_ that the knights wore for battle and training had been substituted by their ceremonial clothing, the one that they would be wearing for the King’s arrival. They rarely wore it —knights had to be ready to step into battle at any given moment, and the tighter (but still thick enough to keep the cold away) clothing of their ceremonial attire wasn’t the best to move around freely, truth be told — but that day was a special occasion.

Sorey wasn’t used to the clothing in the slightest. He had worn a hand me down from Mason — the leanest of the men in his barrack — when he had been a child, and it still had been too big on him. But now the stretchy, black material of his own outfit clung to his skin, showed the outline of his muscles at his arms and legs, pressed against the planes of his chest. Even the feel of his hair continuously falling over his face was strange; the ceremonial attire didn’t include the bright cloth around their forehead — instead, knights wore it around their neck like a scarf, no matter the temperature in the outdoors. It was a sign of distinction for them, after all.

The outfit was finished with a purple cloth wrapped around his waist, where Sorey at least had a little room to hide some more weapons (a few daggers, no more), and to where he could tie the clasp of his scabbard. He wouldn’t be using the sword until later that day, but a knight’s weapon of choice was a part of their ceremonial garb.

However, the most important thing of it all was the small amulet that clung to Sorey’s left hip, pinned to the fabric of his purple belt. It was the size of his fist, and shaped as a flower. The iron petals had a rich blue color, similar to the color of the sky, with fractals of glittery colors catching the rays of the sun. It was an amulet created by blue mages, rare and exquisite, given only to the knights that proved themselves worthy to wear it. Sorey had done so when he was chosen for the King’s exhibition, and only three other people had won it that year.

Sorey should be proud of being able to carry it around, but… it only made him feel uneasy.

It wasn’t one of Mikleo’s amulets, after all. The calming, warm magic that Sorey associated with Mikleo was nowhere to be found in that flower.

And even though Mikleo’s magic was with him in the shape of his necklace, he wished he also had it in the flower.

“Oh, ho, ho, what are you doing here, duckling?”

Boris’ arm fell over Sorey’s shoulders even before his voice reached Sorey’s ears, rocking him slightly there were Sorey stood. He was grinning, and observing Sorey with a teasing glint in his eyes.

Boris was, of course, also wearing the ceremonial attire. But, because this was Boris —and Boris always had to be special —, he had given the whole thing his own style. Instead of wearing the headband around his neck like Sorey did, he had wrapped it around his chest like a sash, letting the long, bright ends curl around the purple fabric of his waist. He had given the sash a purpose by slinging his bow over it, the cord pressed snuggly against the fabric.

On his head, a slim, red headband kept all of his hair pushed back and away from his eyes, making a puffy bump of hair rise from his hairline.

There was no flower by his hip. Boris could have gotten it, if he had wanted… But he had never cared for insignias, and he wasn’t going to start now.

Sorey frowned back at his friend. He had lost track of Boris a few minutes ago, like he always did when there was a crowd around them, but he wasn’t too surprised by his sudden appearance. “What do you mean what I’m doing?” Sorey asked. “I’m waiting for the King…”

“No, I mean, what are you doing _here_ , by the gates?”

“…I don’t get it.”

Boris blinked down at him, once, and then his mouth broke into a huge grin, his eyes glinting even more now. “Oh. You don’t know, huh.”

“Know what?”

Using the arm that Boris still had over Sorey’s shoulders, he stirred Sorey towards the other way and pushed until they walked side by side, away from the gates and towards the Academy. Sorey let him do, only mildly concerned. There was not a protocol to follow aside from the best knights standing in the front row, closer to the King than the rest, so he didn’t really mind where Boris took him.

Still, he wanted to know why Boris looked so smug.

“You see, my adorable little brother, mages have their own traditions. And for as long as they have been around, the lowest level greets the King first. Which means, the mages with the highest level will be closer to the Academy, and not near the gates.” Reaching down, Boris smacked his open hand against Sorey’s chest, hard. He spoke in a low voice when he said: “Your boy is a green, so he will stand near the castle too. You can thank me later.”

“Oh.” Sorey whispered, blinking towards the Academy. “ _Oh._ I—I see… But stop calling him ‘my boy’, Boris!”

“When you stop acting so cute each time I do it.” Boris said, and pinched Sorey’s cheek. “There’s another thing, but I’ll keep it a surprise.”

“What thing—?”

“Oh, Boris. Can’t you stop manhandling Sorey for a minute?”

At the sound of the new voice, both stopped in their tracks almost at the end of the knights’ line, close to the castle. They both turned to find Sergei smiling at them, arms crossed over his special _kamui_ that denoted his captain status. It was the same as Sorey’s, but with a golden robe clinging to his robust shoulders, trailing after him like a cape. Around his forehead, a thin, also golden band that substituted the usual orange one.

He wasn’t alone; by his side stood another knight, a woman, whose red hair was pulled back into a thick ponytail, also wearing the captain’s golden _kamui._ She seemed amused as well, but her smile was small.

“Hey bro,” Boris said casually, finally letting Sorey go. “Is it almost time?”

Sergei nodded. “Yes. The mages will come outside soon, so we better get ready to greet them.”

“Captain Maltran.” Sorey put a hand over his heart, arm crossing his chest, and bowed, showing the woman knight his respects.

Captain Maltran nodded, but she didn’t emulate the gesture. “Sorey. I heard you will be on the arena today. Congratulations.”

Sorey nodded. Maltran was talking about the exhibition; it said a lot about the knight’s abilities, to exhibit themselves in the arena in front of the King. “Thank you, captain.”

“I will call order.” She said, looking at Sergei. “I will leave the rest in your hands.”

“Very well.” Sergei agreed.

As Maltran walked away, the three men watched her leave with very different expressions. But it was Boris the one who spoke when she was out of earshot, surprising the other two.

“That woman gives me the creeps.”

“Boris…” Sergei started, tone menacing.

“Why?” Sorey asked, cocking his head to the side. “She doesn’t say much, but she’s amazing with the spear!”

Boris pursed his lips. His fingers played with the string of his bow over his chest, like Sorey had seen musicians do in Pendrago’s main square. “I dunno. She just gives me a bad feeling.”

“Well, do me a favor and push it aside for today.” Sergei said with a sigh. “I want today to pass by smoothly, and that won’t be possible with you picking up fights with everyone you don’t like.”

“Bro!” Boris exclaimed, visibly offended. “What do you—!?”

Whatever Boris had been about to say got drowned by the calling of a horn, the loud sound swiping over the vast grounds, from one point to the other. Sorey watched as conversations were dropped all around him and the knights adopted their stances, moving towards their places. The front row of knights positioned themselves with their feet together, the tip of their boots barely grazing the edge of the path.

“Let’s join them.” Sergei said, putting his right hand on one of Sorey’s shoulder, the left one on Boris’. “And please, behave yourselves. Both of you.”

“I haven’t done anything!” Sorey protested.

Boris groaned. “You’re such a bore, big bro.”

“No I’m not!”

Just as they reached their place, standing the three of them together in line by the path, with Boris in the middle of the other two, the doors of the Academy opened. Sorey wanted to look, to search for Mikleo among that sea of mages as soon as the gates opened, but Sergei gave a shout, directed at all knights, and Sorey was forced to come to attention. Feet together, arm crossing his chest, hand over his heart and chin raised, Sorey’s eyes were fixed on the sky, slightly closed due to the brightness of the sun. He could hear the steps of the Congregation of Mages walking towards him but he could not see them; he would have to wait until they were all settled to look for his friend.

But he could feel Mikleo’s presence stronger now, inside himself. The familiar pull was telling him Mikleo was closer now, somewhere around, and it was becoming even harder for Sorey to stay still. Would Mikleo be looking for him as well? Or would he be acting like a proper mage, looking straight ahead without breaking the mages’ protocol?

Knowing Mikleo, it was probably the later.

Still, that thought didn’t stop Sorey from looking for Mikleo the moment the mages were settled. As he let his arm fall back to the side, Sorey let his eyes roam over the heads of the mages—

And nearly had a heart attack.

There were _eyes_ looking back at him, at all the knights. It turned out the mages had their own ceremonial attire — something he should have known, given Boris’ snort next to him — and although their ceremonial _sumari_ was very simple, it seemed to entail a lot of work. The layers and layers of fabric had been forgone for a simple, long-sleeved shirt made of white silk, with a high neck and gauzy hems, with details sewn with threads the color of their rank. The shirt went past the mages’ waist, brushing at their thighs and giving way to soft, comfortable white pants, held up by a thin leather rope around their waists. Over it, short jackets gave them a poor excuse for cover against the cold morning, the pads of the shoulders made of a sturdier material that sketched the lines of the mages’ backs, with fine threads of gold and silver falling from them like a drizzle of jewelry, the stones swaying softly over the white as they moved.

But what had taken Sorey’s breath away was none of those things. It was the masks, so, so different from what Sorey was used to. These masks weren’t complete covers of the mages’ features, weren’t black canvases with spirals of color over them. They were depictions, starting from the bridge of their noses in what seemed to be an imitation of a beak or a muzzle and rising upwards, covering their cheekbones, their eyes, their foreheads, and even higher up in the shape of horns, which held the feather-like weight of a beautiful veil over the mage’s head as if they had been created to do just that.

They were dragons. The mages were dragons, their masks depictions of the feral animals — and almost see-through.

The masks seemed to be made of dark glass, as if it was tinted. It was enough for others to see their vibrant eyes, but the rest of their features stayed shadowed, hidden under the stylized mask. More soft jewelry hung from the horns like earrings.

Sorey’s heart skipped a beat. He had to find Mikleo soon, he had to see—

 _There._ A little ways down from where Sorey stood, among the mages, was Mikleo, dragon mask perched over half of his face and clad in the thin clothing of his ceremonial garb.

He was already looking at Sorey. His colorful eyes seemed to shine under the mask, not dulled at all by the darkness of the glass, hair perfectly combed and covered by the long veil that trailed beyond his shoulders. He was shaking lightly from the cold —Sorey regretted not having his pelt around; he would have forced it onto Mikleo, customs be damned, before his friend could suffer a second more in the cold — but he was also smirking towards Sorey, if albeit secretly.

Sorey, that hadn’t realized he had been staring with his mouth open, closed it with a soft sound of teeth clacking.

Mikleo looked… gorgeous. The ceremonial clothes showed off the shapes of his body that Sorey had been forbidden to see for years, and his dragon mask made Mikleo look feral, powerful, and yet still refined like a piece of china. Something inside Sorey stirred; he wanted to show Mikleo to the world, point his hands towards him and exclaim ‘ _look at him, at his power, at his beauty. You do well fearing him’._

He wanted to move closer to him.

But instead, Sorey let himself sigh and smile back.

“Hello,” he mouthed, not a sound leaving his lips.

Mikleo’s smirk turned into a sweet smile. “Hi,” he mouthed back, before tearing his eyes away from Sorey.

Sorey’s heart skipped a beat, happily.

“You’re so fucking obvious.” Boris snorted next to him.

Sorey jumped. “Am I really?”

“Not _that_ much, don’t worry.” Before Sorey could stop him, Boris elbowed him in the side, making his breath hitch in his chest. “So that’s Mikleo, huh? Not bad, duckling.”

A soft blush covered Sorey’s cheeks, making him shake his head to get rid of it. “Shut up, Boris.”

“I mean, he is kinda cute. If you’re into the whole… mage thing.”

Sorey couldn’t take his eyes off Mikleo. He watched as the mage next to him leant closer — a blue one, their long, white, braided hair cascading over one shoulder, beyond the hem of the veil — and whispered something, pointing at Mikleo’s mask with a lithe, gloved finger.

Startled, Mikleo quickly moved to straighten his mask, the muzzle of the dragon now aligned with the bridge of his nose.

“He’s not just a mage for me.” Sorey told Boris, finally looking away, with a happy smile on his lips and a blush covering his cheeks. “He’s Mikleo!”

Boris laughed, deep and amused. His hand shot forward to grab at Sorey’s hair one more time, ruffling it up until all the care Sorey had put on it in the morning was completely destroyed. Tresses of brown hair spiked up in every direction, like the rays of the sun.

“What are you two up to?” Sergei asked, leaning over Boris’ front. “All this whispering is giving me the wrong idea.”

“Nothing, Serg.” Boris said with another laugh. “Our Sorey here is just a hopeless romantic.”

Sergei frowned, tiny wrinkles appearing on his forehead, under the golden headband. “There is nothing wrong with being a romantic, Boris.”

“Of course, this coming from Romantic Dork Number 2…”

Once again, the sound of the horn interrupted their conversation. The heads of the three knights, and of almost every other person in the courtyard, snapped to the side towards the gates, to find that the King’s procession had already arrived. They were visible just beyond the gates, with the Royal Guard at the front clad in their armors that glinted in the sun. They were leaving their horses by the gates with the servants; as the tradition mandated, they would make their way to the Academy by foot.

Sorey sneaked another look towards Mikleo. His friend was trying to look composed, but curiosity was getting the best of him. Mikleo was looking down the line, towards the monarch’s delegation, as his teeth worried on his bottom lip and his fingers drummed excitedly on his soft pants.

Sorey had to tear his gaze away, feeling his skin prickling. The sun sure was shining bright and hot that day.

With one last blast of the horn, the group started to move.

\-- 

The King’s delegation was composed of three parts. First, it was the Royal Guard. Part of the knights but always traveling with the King, the Royal Guard was a group of twenty men and women, the best of the Tower, who decided to consecrate their lives not to the protection of the country, but of that of its King. Their colors were black, red and purple, the King’s colors, all scattered over their _kamui_ like flower petals.

Then, it was the King himself. Sorey’s breath caught slightly in his chest when the King was close enough to distinguish his features. He seemed to exude nobility, reliance, from every pore of his skin. As he walked, his straight back and raised chin seemed to make the ground under his feet quiver and shake, as if there was nothing that could stand in his way… and he very much knew that. He was a tall man, looking no older than fifty despite Sorey knowing he had lived for centuries. A long, purple cape hung from his robust shoulders, down to the floor. It was getting dirty as he walked up the sandy path, but he didn’t seem to care. That, too was tradition. His blond hair was combed back and away from his eyes, a well-kept beard hiding the squared line of his jaw.

It was King Heldalf, the protector of Glenwood, the chosen by the Empyreans. The person in every single one of the mages’ prayers.

And finally, behind him, the last part of the delegation — a mage. But not any kind of mage. She was a woman — a girl, almost, the only one who had been allowed to keep her horse. And so she mounted; her purple, pristine robes trailing over the hindquarters of her horse as she looked straight ahead, her chin as raised as the King’s. But while the King had done so with confidence, she did it with pride, blatantly. She didn’t cower, like the other mages did, didn’t mask her personal traits by shadowing them in anonymity. Her robes clung to her skin, showing more than what they concealed, held together by trails of gold that sparkled under the morning sun. Over her head, a thin veil fell like a cascade of sea foam over her short hair, which was darker than charcoal. Sorey had never seen a mane so dark.

She was the best mage the Academy had raised up in the last seven years. She was beyond the blue level, her magic and prayers stronger than twenty bronze mages together, her blessings said to bring storms as promptly as she brought the sun with her.

She was the King’s _seraph_. Beautiful, brilliant.

Unmasked.

Mikleo had told Sorey about seraphim many times. They were the best out of the best, prodigies whose magic had a better affinity to the one of the earthpulses, and they were chosen as the King’s companion by the King himself. They were usually young mages, and they never stayed at the Academy for long. The moment they reached the blue rank, they were sent to the King’s residence in Hyland for the King to decide. None ever returned; the King had always trusted the Academy’s judgement.

The actual seraph’s name was Symonne. She was the youngest seraph to date.

Her burgundy eyes stared at the white castle with something akin to disinterest, and a shiver ran down Sorey’s spine. She looked like the kind of person that would burn the Academy to ashes just for fun.

But the mages seemed to think differently. They all bowed as the King passed by, not daring to look at him as he walked, but their heads snapped up to look at the seraph as if they couldn’t help it, their shadowed masks doing a poor job at concealing their curiosity.

Mikleo was different. As the King approached him, Mikleo lowered his head slightly, but his interest won over his politeness and he kept his eyes fixed on the group. Sorey understood why. Since childhood, they both had been driven by a knowledge to know more, to discover more.

Considering this was the first time Mikleo was seeing the King and his seraph up close, there was no way he was going to miss his chance.

Maybe that was why the King stopped to return Mikleo’s gaze. Maybe the way his excitement seemed to roll off him like waves was what called the King to him, like a moth to a flame. The King stopped walking in front of Mikleo, face turned towards him, and Sorey felt his chest tighten.

A feeling of foreboding made him swallow hard.

Silence filled the courtyard as the King regarded Mikleo. This was not part of tradition. The King was supposed to walk to the Academy undeterred, without directing a word to anyone or stopping for anything. So everyone turned to look at the King and the mage that had caught his attention with bated breath, craning their necks to do so.

A cold sweat went down Sorey’s back. _Keep walking_ , he begged internally, without knowing exactly why. _Keep walking, keep walking, keep—_

The King didn’t continue walking. Instead he turned to face Mikleo fully, long robes trailing after him on the path. Sorey watched as Mikleo, too surprised to react accordingly, didn’t even tense. He simply straightened his back to return the King’s gaze with calmness, as if he was a king himself.

His dragon mask shone under the sun, and the King smiled.

When the King started to raise a hand, Sorey felt himself move. He would have walked forward, draining magic out of his amulets to move faster, swifter — if it wasn’t for Boris, who extended an arm to grab Sorey by the elbow before anyone could see him moving.

“Don’t.” Boris spat from the corner of his mouth, keeping Sorey by his side with too much strength in his grip.

Sorey winced, but not because of Boris’ hand. “But—“

In front of them, the King’s hand hovered over Mikleo’s face. There was no threat in the way the King held his own hand in the air, no fear of him ever hurting Mikleo (‘ _Why would he?’_ A small part of Sorey protested. ‘ _He’s the King.’)._ Even so, Sorey wanted that hand away from his friend, wanted the King to _continue walking._

But instead the King’s thumb brushed against the edge of Mikleo’s mask, right over his cheek, touching the skin with his knuckle.

Sorey saw the skin dip under the thumb, colored red by the sun and the unexpected touch, and felt his breath catch in his chest.

“You have beautiful eyes.” King Heldalf said, loud and clear for all the courtyard to hear.

And before anything else could happen he continued walking, his seraph’s horse close after him and only the sound of its hooves filling the tense silence in the air.

Sorey wouldn’t be able to remember the rest of the parade after that. He knew the King had to pass by him, because he was right by the Academy, but he wasn’t able to remember anything about it. He could only think of Mikleo’s skin moving under another person’s touch, of the way no one had screamed about it, of the way Mikleo had _allowed it._

It hurt. It hurt, and Sorey wouldn’t have been able to say why.

“Why is everyone leaving?” Sorey asked a while later, when his brain decided to work again. Mages and knights alike had broken formation and were dispersed throughout the courtyard in groups, chatting animatedly, the sound of their voices rising in the air.

Boris hadn’t let go of Sorey’s elbow yet. “The parade is over.” He said, leaning away from the path. There was no sight of Sergei; he probably had entered the building after the King, as a captain had to. “Come on. I’m starving.”

“…I have to talk to Mikleo.”

“No, you don’t.” Boris’ hand tightened; it would probably leave a bruise. “Nothing happened, Sorey. Mikleo’s fine—“

Without taking his eyes away from the door where the mages were slowly disappearing through, Sorey shook Boris’ hand away brusquely, muttering an excuse and sprinting towards the doors of the Academy.

What he was doing was madness. There was nothing he could do to catch Mikleo’s attention, not without at least fifty heads turning in their direction. A mage and a knight talking wasn’t anything special, but after what had happened… Sorey should know better.

But still, he went after Mikleo. And when he saw him, standing alone without moving as he waited for the doors to be less congested, Sorey thought that maybe the Empyreans didn’t think this was such a bad idea, after all.

They did seem to be helping Sorey.

“Mikleo.” Sorey whispered, standing behind a corner and only peeking out to let his voice carry. “Mikleo!”

Mikleo’s mask snapped to the side, looking for the voice calling him. When he finally found the source —or when Sorey thought he did; he couldn’t be too sure with Mikleo wearing his mask, even if it was kind of see-through —, Mikleo’s shoulders went tense, and he looked around to see if someone was watching.

No one was, so Mikleo rushed to meet Sorey. Sorey could feel anger coming off him already.

“Sorey, what are you doing!” Mikleo whispered, pressing himself against the wall. Their corner wasn’t too big, so Mikleo was keeping as far away as possible from Sorey without showing their hiding spot. “If someone sees us—“

“I just wanted to…” Sorey scratched the back of his neck. What did he want, exactly? “Are you okay?” He finally settled for asking. “That thing with the King was… weird, wasn’t it?”

Mikleo looked away. Now that Mikleo was closer, Sorey could see his luminous eyes flashing under the dark glass. And it could just be a trick of the light, but Mikleo seemed to be blushing still…

“It was… surprising, yes.” Mikleo said, and the fact that he hadn’t used a negative word like Sorey had didn’t go over Sorey’s head. “It was an honor. Lailah said the King has never done that, before…”

“But he touched you.” Sorey pressed on. His heart was beating so fast he could feel it against the base of his throat, making it hard to breathe. “Are you okay with that?”

Sorey thought Mikleo’s face would fall. He thought he would maybe shiver and look away, like he always did when touching was brought up. But instead Mikleo blushed harder, wrapping his arms around himself and looking at Sorey with narrowed eyes.

“It was just a brush. Nothing to get worked up about.”

 _‘Then why can’t I do it?’_ Sorey thought almost desperately, hands twitching at his sides. ‘ _Why do you shy away the moment I so much as breathe close to you—?’_

“But he did say my eyes were beautiful.” Mikleo continued. Despite the mask, Sorey saw just how pleased he was.

Sorey bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood.

He wished for a minute to put his thoughts in order, but he also wished to—

“Mikleo—“

“Lord Mikleo.”

Both Sorey and Mikleo jumped as if burned, turning towards the sound of the voice. There was someone standing behind them — a mage, their ceremonial clothes riveted with threads the color of bronze. Sorey didn’t recognize them, their mask too dark to see their features clearly, but Mikleo went tense, not with surprise but with distaste.

“Yes?” Mikleo replied, voice collected. Sorey moved his gaze from the newcomer to Mikleo, surprised at the coldness in his tone.

“May I ask what is happening here?” The mage asked, chin raised petulantly. “Surely there is a reason for you to meet a knight so secretly?”

Sorey opened his mouth, though no sound came out. What was he supposed to say? What could he do? Sorey felt his palms sweating, his hands shaking. They had been caught talking and it was all his fault—

But Mikleo turned to face the mage fully, without a trace of doubt or shame in his posture. “There is a difference between ‘secretly’ and ‘privately’, Lord Emil.” Mikleo said, and Sorey immediately understood what he hadn’t before.

Lord Emil was the mage that had brought Mikleo to the Academy all those years ago… And the closest thing Mikleo had to an enemy inside the castle. Mikleo had bemoaned about Emil thousands of times throughout the ages, talking about how he _loved_ to ridicule Mikleo the first chance he got (which, admittedly, weren’t many), about how Emil had created this one sided rivalry Mikleo had no interest in. The older mage had been bitter towards Mikleo since Mikleo had showed a special affinity for magic, allowing him to jump from rank to rank fluidly while Emil had been stuck on the bronze rank for as long as they had been at the Academy.

Mikleo disliked Emil as much as the older mage disliked Mikleo.

And it showed.

Behind the dark glass, Emil’s bronze eyes narrowed. “Then you will not have any trouble explaining why—

“I do not, though I fail to see why I owe you any explanation.” Mikleo fired back. “I was simply asking the knight about the last amulets I lent him. I learnt that he got to wear them during his last mission, and I wanted to know if there was anything I could improve.”

Emil scoffed, making a vague gesture with his hand. “On the day of the King’s arrival?”

Mikleo shrugged. “I do not know of any other better moment. It is easy to find a knight when you know where they will be.”

Sorey bit down on the interior of his cheek. He didn’t like the way Mikleo kept referring to him —using the word ‘knight’, instead of his name —, but he knew Mikleo was only doing that to keep Emil at bay.

There was a beat of silence, and then Emil’s face hardened. He must have realized that he would not be able to put Mikleo to shame with this. “You should join us inside, Lord Mikleo.” Emil said, bowing his head lightly. He was still looking daggers at both Sorey and Mikleo. “We must show our respects to the King.”

“…After you, Lord Emil.”

The way Mikleo said it made a shiver run down Sorey’s spine. Emil nodded once again and turned around, briskly walking away with his hands pressed into fists. It wasn’t until Emil disappeared inside the Academy that Sorey allowed himself to sigh, tense shoulders slumping.

“That was—“

“You can’t do this, Sorey.” Mikleo quickly said, blurting his words out. Sorey went tense again, under the intensity of Mikleo’s eyes. “We can’t talk in public, and you know it! Much less when there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

Sorey looked away. He felt like a scolded child, all of a sudden. “I just wanted—“

“If we get caught, things will get ugly.” Mikleo continued, voice low, as if Sorey hadn’t talked. “Okay? No more sneaking up on me to talk, no matter what.”

“…Yes.”

“…Good.” Taking a step back, Mikleo pushed himself away from the ineffective safety of their corner. “I have to go back now, okay—?”

“Mikleo, wait.”

Sorey saw Mikleo hesitate. There was a moment when Mikleo thought about not stopping, and that alone was enough to make Sorey regret calling after him in the first place. But he would regret leaving things in such a bitter tone even more, he knew. So he waited until Mikleo turned, mustered up his best smile, and said:

“You look amazing today.”

A cold breeze played with the gauzy edges of Mikleo’s _sumari_ , with the veil that hung from the dragon’s mask. And then Mikleo rolled his eyes behind the dark glass, even if his lips were curling lazily upwards into a smile.

“Don’t say things like that with such a straight face.” Mikleo said, and Sorey laughed lowly, scratching the back of his head. “It’s just the clothes, anyway.”

“Mm.” Sorey knew better than going against Mikleo in that moment. So instead, he added: “See you tonight?”

This time, Mikleo didn’t hesitate. But he gave himself a second to smile a little bit bigger, before replying: “See you tonight, Sorey.”

It took Sorey a long while to return to the Tower once Mikleo disappeared inside the Academy. He thought making Mikleo smile before saying goodbye would make him feel better.

But for some reason, the slightly exasperated smile that had bloomed on Mikleo’s lips had done nothing but tighten the yoke around Sorey’s throat, choking him.

 

* * *

 

It seemed to be a trend, the fact that Sorey couldn’t stay hidden in the darkness beyond the rooftop when he was anxious. He had tried, of course, had tried to dangle over the abyss until Mikleo arrived, but it had been almost impossible for him. He kept moving too much, making too much noise, so he decided to wait up in the rooftop anyway.

At least he wouldn’t risk falling down to his death.

The night was colder, way colder than the day had been, so Sorey had clad himself in his long coat, burying his nose in the fur that lined the neck as he sat down to regard the stars, letting the amulet around his neck —the small crystal with the ember inside — warm the space between the layers of his clothes. After the King’s welcoming parade, the day had gone by in a whirlwind. Boris had dragged Sorey back to the tower with a set jaw and a firm grip. He was mad, Sorey knew it, but he couldn’t make himself apologize. Sorey’s mind had been full of Mikleo’s rosy cheeks, of the way his eyes sparkled as he spoke of the King, and then he had felt too sick to talk at all.

That wasn’t his Mikleo. Mikleo didn’t cower for anyone, didn’t seek anyone’s approval. He worked hard for himself, for the things he believed in, for the _people_ he believed in.

But maybe that had been the Mikleo from before the Academy, the child from Camlann that had left everything behind to save his village.

Sorey sighed against the fur of his coat. It was stupid to think that that Mikleo was gone forever after such a small thing, but that was the feeling all his thoughts carried with them.

After Boris had dragged Sorey back to the barracks, his friend hadn’t uttered a word, and neither had Sorey. He had walked to his bed without even thinking about it, starting to undress without reaching for his _kamui_ first. Sorey just wanted to be out of the ceremonial garb, to feel the reassuring pressure of his headband not around his neck, where it choked him, but around his forehead, keeping his hair comfortably out of his face.

Once dressed with his usual outfit, Sorey had gone down to the arena to wait for the exhibition to begin. He had fought bravely against his companions, feeling the weight of his iron flower by his waist like a burden, making it unable for Sorey to forget he was in a mock battle.

Or maybe it was the fact that he felt the King’s eyes on him the whole time. The same eyes that had made Mikleo blush were in that moment starring at Sorey with a curiosity that felt scorching, vexing.

Sorey didn’t understand how he had even managed to fight under that look.

Mages weren’t allowed into the exhibitions. The same way the tour through the Academy was reserved only for the King and his mages, the exhibition was the knights’ equivalent to that. But still Sorey wondered if, had Mikleo been there, his eyes would have been on the King instead of on him.

And then Sorey berated himself for that, because he shouldn’t think those things.

If Mikleo was happy, Sorey was happy. If being praised by the King made Mikleo happy, Sorey would smile and be happy it happened.

And it would be the truth, because Sorey was incredibly bad at lying, and Mikleo didn’t deserve anything else.

In the rooftop, when the door behind Sorey opened, he turned and smiled truthfully, eager. Behind him, the orange light casted pretty shadows onto Mikleo’s mask — not the dragon shaped one but his usual one, the warm colors making the green spirals brighter, somehow. Mikleo was no longer wearing his ceremonial garb either, but his daily one, even if it was hidden underneath the thick, white coat that Mikleo was wearing. Sorey watched as Mikleo stopped, surprised to see Sorey sitting near the railing of the rooftop with the light already on.

“Is this going to be a thing now?” Mikleo said as he walked closer, letting the door fall closed behind him. Sorey was surprised to see Mikleo taking his mask off without prompting as he walked, and by the teasing smile that was hidden underneath. Mikleo seemed to be in high spirits that night. “You not caring about possible danger and waiting for me up here?”

Sorey shrugged. Mikleo looked like an ice prince with that coat, long until it almost reached the floor and fluffy like a marshmallow. If there was something Sorey loved about winter, it was that he got to see Mikleo wearing it. “I was just cold, dangling out there.” Sorey replied, keeping his eyes on Mikleo for a second longer before moving them back to the stars. “That’s all.”

“…You’re not getting sick, are you?” Mikleo wondered, already behind Sorey. Sorey’s heart skipped a pleased but shameful beat at the worry in Mikleo’s voice. “Did you overwork yourself?”

Sorey didn’t reply until Mikleo was sitting by his side on the pelt, rubbing his gloved hands together. It truly was cold, that night. Maybe the next morning they would wake up to the first snow of the year.

“I’m just tired from the exhibition. I promise!” He added with a true smile, scratching the back of his neck. “It was tough. No one wanted to look bad in front of the King.”

Mikleo turned towards him, the lower half of his face hidden in the fur of his coat. Sorey couldn’t see his mouth, but by the way his eyes shone, he knew Mikleo was smirking. “But you still won.”

Sorey blinked. “I—How did you know?”

“I have my ways.” Mikleo replied with a shrug. His eyes were on the stars then, clinking softly with the light of the lamp.

In that moment, a cold breeze made Mikleo burrow himself deeper in his coat but Sorey was too excited to notice it hit his skin. “Tell me! Did you speak to Sergei or something?”

“I didn’t have to.” Mikleo said. He seemed more relaxed that night, happier, and the thought made Sorey feel butterflies in his chest. “No one told me anything. I just knew you would win.”

Mikleo’s words made the warmth that was curling inside Sorey’s chest spread outwards, to every corner of Sorey’s body. He felt it pooling at his cheeks when he smiled, too happy by Mikleo’s words to even care about blushing. “Thanks, Mikleo!”

“What are you thanking me for?” Mikleo snorted, shaking his head lightly. His veil floated in the breeze around his face. “You won. I had nothing to do with that.”

That was true, in a way. Knights weren’t allowed to use amulets in the exhibition, only their weapon of choice and their own bodies. But still, Mikleo had been in Sorey’s mind the whole time as he battled his brothers and sisters, and in a way… That had made Sorey push himself further.

He had always wanted to be someone Mikleo could be proud of.

“What about you?” Sorey asked back, extending his legs in front of him, feeling more relaxed than some minutes ago. Even if he hadn’t been wearing his coat, Mikleo’s amulet would have been enough to keep him warm. It seemed to be burning brighter since Mikleo had arrived, shining softly though the layers of Sorey’s clothing. “How was the rest of the day?”

“It was… strange.” Mikleo replied with a pensive look. “Everyone kept looking at me. I’m not used to all the attention.”

Sorey, who had been hitting softly his boots together, stopped his movement abruptly and folded his legs once more, never once looking away from Mikleo as he frowned slightly. “Because of what the King did?”

“…Yes. Apparently it is a big thing, for the King to stop in the middle of his parade.” Mikleo shrugged. “Things calmed down when I changed back to my usual clothes, but…”

“But you’re still happy it happened?” Sorey asked once it was obvious Mikleo wasn’t going to continue speaking. Even if he wasn’t happy about it all, Sorey would hate it even more if Mikleo was having a hard time due to what had happened.

But when Mikleo sighed, it didn’t sound like he was too troubled by it. “I wouldn’t say happy…” He said, and then his expression turned soft, touched. “But it did feel nice. Remember back at Camlann, how I always had to hide myself from strangers?” Mikleo waited until Sorey nodded, if albeit numbly, to continue speaking. “I’m not used to non-mages complimenting me. They usually shudder and look away in fear, like the Academy’s servants. So, I guess the King’s compliment did feel nice—“

“But I compliment you all the time.”

The words were out before Sorey could think them through, and he immediately regretted them. He didn’t have a right to say that; his compliments to Mikleo were simple displays of affection, not something to hold over his friend, as if he was supposed to be grateful Sorey complimented him at all.

But that wasn’t what Sorey meant by those words. He just didn’t understand why Mikleo was so surprised by someone complimenting him when Sorey did it at every chance he got. It was just… why? Why was the King’s praise more worthwhile than Sorey’s?

Mikleo didn’t make Sorey wait long for an answer. He rolled his eyes, and said: “But that doesn’t count, Sorey. You’re my friend. And— well, you’re you. You would never say a bad thing about someone ever, even if you _are_ scared of them—“

Sorey’s heart skipped a painful beat. “So you think I’m scared of you?”

“No, of course not!” He exclaimed, eyes opened wide with surprise. “You know that’s not it at all, Sorey, what are you even saying…”

 _I don’t know._ Sorey wanted to say, but a knot in his throat prevented him from blurting out more words. _I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore—_

Sorey’s head had been messy like that all day, his brain fighting to put words to Sorey’s feelings. Was it jealousy? His feelings seemed too complex to narrow them down to something as simple as that. And he wasn’t angry either; he was just—

A shaky breath escaped from Sorey’s mouth, making his shoulders shake. He hadn’t looked away from Mikleo, not even once, and the confusion he saw in his friend’s features was enough to make Sorey feel worse. He was supposed to make Mikleo’s life easier, not add more stress to it…

And yet, his body seemed to have its own ideas. Without realizing what he was doing, Sorey reached forward, moving his hand to grasp Mikleo’s gloved one that rested on his own thigh. His whole body moved with it, leaning closer and closer to Mikleo—

Who snatched his hand away before Sorey could even graze it.

Sorey felt his heart break. Not because of Mikleo moving away —though it did hurt just the same— but because of the look Mikleo gave him, betrayed, hurt and surprised at the same time. Sorey felt all his blood rush away from his hands, from his face, leaving him empty in his place, still leaning towards Mikleo with his hand hanging in the air between them.

Mikleo opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He just sat there, looking as if he too was having trouble deciding what he was feeling in that moment.

Sorey looked away, almost choking with his words. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—!”

“You…”

“I know better than that! I really do.” Sorey chanced a look at Mikleo from the corner of his eye; he had closed his mouth, and was simply looking at Sorey with a strange look in his eyes, hiding himself behind his veil. Sorey swallowed thickly. “I won’t try to touch you again.”

“Sorey…”

Despite Mikleo whispering his name softly, he didn’t add anything else. The silence was interrupted only by the sound of the wind hitting the outer walls of the Academy, rattling the windowpanes. But it wasn’t enough to break the tension the silence created, so heavy and bitter that Sorey couldn’t handle it anymore.

So he forced out a laugh, low and fake, and pushed himself to his feet under Mikleo’s intense gaze.

“You know, I think you’re right, after all!” Sorey rushed to say, not meeting Mikleo’s eyes. His necklace burned against the skin of his chest. “I think I pushed myself a little too hard earlier during the exhibition… I should go back and rest! I wouldn’t want to fall sick, haha—“

Mikleo rose to his feet too, arms tight around himself. With his back turned towards Mikleo, Sorey missed the sad look his friend dedicated him.

“You can leave if you want.” Mikleo muttered, words only audible enough to reach Sorey. “But please, don’t lie to me.”

All will to fake his smiles abandoned Sorey. He looked over his shoulder to Mikleo’s tense form, his heart squeezing itself in his chest. In other circumstances, Sorey would have wished he could hug Mikleo… But the fear of being rejected once again was scary enough to make him not even dare to entertain the thought.

So he simply whispered: “Goodnight, Mikleo”, and walked to the railing to start his way back to the Tower.

Sorey didn’t turn back even once.

Mikleo didn’t ask him to stay.


	7. Chapter 6: Poppy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I'm almost done with finals FREEDOM IS SO CLOSE!! I'm sorry I made you guys wait but I hope this long chapter will make up for it!
> 
> Happy reading! <3

The workshop, despite all the deafening sounds that ricocheted against its stoney walls, was the most peaceful place for Mikleo in all of the Academy. It wasn’t peaceful in the way the Meadow or the baths were, but in that blissful, amazing way only handwork and concentration brought along. In the workshop, with all the materials, the tools functioning around him, and the smell of leather and burnt iron, Mikleo could find a peace that he didn’t find anywhere else. He got lost in his work, head completely blank as he created a new amulet and let magic flow from him to his newest creation.

But that, sadly, wasn’t working for him that day.

After not being able to attach a small stone to its place in the sturdy bracelet he was making, Mikleo sighed and let the top of his head rest against the worktable, hands uselessly hanging at his sides. It had been like that since two nights ago, when Mikleo had last seen Sorey up in the rooftop. Every time he tried to do something useful, to work, or even to pray, images of Sorey’s sad, hurt face flashed through his mind, unbidden and unneeded, and Mikleo was rendered to a useless mass of mage every time.

He tried to be mad at Sorey. He tried to be mad at him for stepping over the line, for reaching out for his hand… But he couldn’t. He couldn’t be mad when he had seen Sorey’s heartbroken face, the pain and hurt turning the corners of his mouth down and killing the lively glint of his eyes.

If at least Mikleo knew _why—_

After that first night, Mikleo had spent the day thinking and rethinking, trying to come up with a reason why Sorey had looked at him like that, why he had lied there at the end. It couldn’t have been from Mikleo leaning back, could it? Sorey knew they couldn’t touch, that it wasn’t allowed…

Mikleo sighed. Even he knew that was an excuse. Mikleo’s hand had been covered by his glove; even if Sorey had touched him, nothing would have happened.

Except that Mikleo would have freaked out.

Any other person touching him with gloves, or him touching another while wearing them, would have been alright. As long as there wasn’t direct contact, there would be no magic backlash… But with Sorey, it was different.

Mikleo didn’t even want to think why Sorey was different, though.

He kept replaying the conversation in his head, however. How adamant Sorey had been to learn how Mikleo felt about the King touching him, about that strange moment during the parade in which the world had reduced for Mikleo to the hand on his cheek, and the pad of a thumb brushing against his cheekbone. And truth was, not even Mikleo knew exactly how he felt. He felt honored for the praise, for the fact that the King had stopped for him and for him alone.

But that touch…

Would Mikleo stop him, were it to happen again?… No.

Did he _want_ it to happen again…?

_I…_

“Ouch!”

Mikleo lifted his head, quickly looking for the source of the shout. There was a small mage standing not very far away, clad in a pale rose sumari and ringlets of black hair spilling from underneath their veil. They were holding their left hand in their right, pressing against it as they curled their body over their hands protectively.

Crimson drops fell from their hands, staining the concrete floor.

In the blink of an eye, Mikleo grabbed his gloves that rested near his tools and stood up, putting them on as he walked fast towards the child mage.

“It is alright,” he said with a raised voice, willing people to move aside. “I will take care of this.”

The child looked up at the sound of Mikleo’s voice, mask tilted upwards — and then whimpered when they saw Mikleo’s green sumari, rushing to show their respects despite their pain. Mikleo knelt down in front of them, making sure both of his hands stayed in their field of vision.

“Do not worry,” Mikleo said in the softest voice he could muster, smiling behind his mask. “I have hurt myself in the past while working, as well. I understand.”

The child nodded repeatedly, but didn’t reply to Mikleo’s words.

“How may I address you?” Mikleo asked, eyes on the child’s wound. It didn’t seem too deep, but there was enough blood to scare anyone who might look, the child included. Mikleo himself felt a little bit dizzy at the sight, but he forced himself to concentrate on helping the young mage.

“My name’s— I, I mean, you may address me as Lady Kami.”

Mikleo nodded, pretending not to have heard the child’s slip up. “Hello, Lady Kami. You may address me as Lord Mikleo.”

Moving closer, Mikleo raised his gloved hands towards Kami’s, but the young mage jumped away before Mikleo could utter a word. Something sharp crossed Mikleo’s chest, making him bite his lower lip. No matter for how long he had been a mage of the Academy, rejection and fear still hurt like the very first day. Was that sharp pain what had made Sorey look like that the other night?

Mikleo hoped that wasn’t it. He really, really hoped he hadn’t hurt Sorey like that.

“Do not worry,” Mikleo repeated, speaking gently. “I am not going to touch you, I just need to see your wound closely. And I am wearing my gloves, see?”

It wasn’t until Kami nodded and moved her hands closer to Mikleo, that Mikleo dared to move again. It took the child some excruciatingly long seconds, seconds in which the blood continued to drip from her fingers and Mikleo’s worry increased, but soon the girl moved and Mikleo was able to inspect the cut easily.

Mikleo had seen worse, of course, having attended hundreds of knights during his time as a lower mage. But seeing such a gash on such a tiny hand made his guts squirm unpleasantly.

“It is not too deep,” Mikleo started, tilting his chin up to face Kami. “But I will have to heal you now to stop the bleeding.”

As soon as Mikleo’s words were out, Kami whimpered and retreated her hands, pressing them against her chest and straining her sumari with bright red. “But I don’t want to go through Hellfire!”

Behind his mask, Mikleo smiled softly, out of reflex. “Lady Kami, there is nothing to fear. Because magic is continuously coursing through your body, the healing process will not hurt at all. You can trust me on this.”

“…Really?”

In the end, Kami did trust Mikleo. When she allowed him to see her injured hand once more, Mikleo made both of his hover around hers, one on top, one below the back of her hand. He kept a small distance between their hands, making sure he wasn’t touching her, no matter the presence of gloves. He didn’t need contact for healing, not now that he was stronger.

Closing his eyes behind his mask, Mikleo began to wish.

It didn’t take long. The young mage’s wound was closed in mere seconds, the skin mending itself until not even a scar remained, only the blood that coated the girl’s hand. And Mikleo kept his promise too; Kami didn’t even feel a thing. She only gasped when the pain was gone, and she started to look from her palm to Mikleo’s mask, over and over.

“Thank you so much, Lord Mikleo!” Lady Kami exclaimed. Mikleo could imagine a smile behind her mask. “It didn’t hurt at all!”

Again, Mikleo let the girl’s informal speech go unnoticed. He was just glad she was alright. “There is no need for that. Now, go wash your hands and go back to work. And be more careful this time, all right?”

“I will!” The child said, no longer tense. “Thank you!”

Mikleo stayed, kneeling on the cold concrete, as the child ran back to her workplace. Around him, the rest of the mages had long since gone back to their tasks, no longer paying Mikleo or Kami any mind. And maybe that was why Mikleo had no shame in staying on the ground for some more moments, looking at his gloved hand with something akin to wonder behind his mask.

 _This_ , he thought, _this is what I’m giving everything away for. For the power to make people happy, to make them safe._

_To protect Sorey, no matter what._

The thought filled Mikleo with warmth.

He had never felt surer of what he wanted in life.

 

* * *

 

Mikleo didn’t stay for long in the workshop after that. He could feel his magic buzzing in his veins, reacting to his mood. Healing Kami, hearing her smile in her voice, had made Mikleo so happy that he couldn’t sit still, and his amulets kept ending up a little less than perfect.

That had dampened Mikleo’s mood just a tiny bit, but he had decided to leave it for the day. So he had tidied the table up, gathered anything he could still use to work with the toolkit, and left without another word to anyone.

He had started his first piece with Sorey’s toolkit the night before and, as he stared down at the pieces of silver he had just gotten, he realized that he was very excited to continue working on it. He had only started to work with with the toolkit to keep his mind off the fact that Mao hadn’t arrived with a note for him held on his beak, nor had he come to Mikleo’s call when he had gotten tired of waiting around for him. What those two facts meant was obvious, but Mikleo had kept thinking about it until he had sat down on his desk to work.

It wasn’t like Sorey had never failed to attend their nightly reunions, but it was rare; Sorey never let anything stand in his way, and more than once he had shown up on the rooftop with a still open wound that Mikleo had had to heal, or a fever so high that Mikleo had no idea how he had been able to climb the wall at all. And then there had been times when Sorey couldn’t make it at all… But he would always send a note beforehand.

So that night, after hiding his new work in progress with his toolkit under the loose floorboard under the bed, Mikleo had sat on his mattress among the darkness of his room and he had done something he wasn’t very proud of, but that he needed to do to calm his mind and heart. He reached out into the earthpulse, expanding his senses to find Sorey among all the knights in the Tower.

It was easier when Sorey was far away, when he was a luminous spark in the distance. But the Tower was so full of Sorey’s essence that it was hard to spot him at first, sensations and feelings related to him floating around every corner of the knight’s home. But then Mikleo found him, warm and ready, as if he had been waiting for Mikleo to find him the whole time. And right there with Sorey, Mikleo had felt a little part of himself, the spark of Mikleo’s own magic that resided in the necklace Sorey never took off.

That night, something in Mikleo had fallen, like a hammer hitting the head of a nail, even if he himself didn’t know what it meant. He had found Sorey in the tower, wrapped around the small part of Mikleo’s essence that was always with him, and Mikleo’s worry had evaporated upon feeling Sorey safe and unharmed — But then something had made Mikleo’s magic stir. It was Sorey reaching forward as well, towards Mikleo, as if he too was looking for him. Mikleo knew Sorey didn’t have the ability to do what Mikleo could, but Sorey had talked at times of how he was able to feel Mikleo’s presence when they were in the same location, or not that very far away from each other. Mikleo prepared to reel back, surprised at the feel of Sorey reaching out — and stopped himself when the only thing he felt was warmth. A warmth so pure and sweet that Mikleo couldn’t help but gasp softly in the darkness of his room, tilting his whole consciousness towards it with the calmness of a cat that lays under the sun.

That moment —that warm, bright moment — was the only thing that let Mikleo know that whatever had happened up in the rooftop the other night, it wouldn’t stay between them for long.

They just needed a little bit of time. And they would be okay again.

So as he walked back to his room, the pieces of silver from the workshop still in his palm, Mikleo thought of things he could do to keep his mind off things again. Maybe he could continue working on his new amulet. Or maybe he could sneak into the Aviary, spend some time there. After all, it had been a while since he had last visited Lo—

A lone figure in the next corridor made Mikleo’s thoughts stop abruptly, the same as the rest of his body. They were hunched against a wall, one hand up to keep themselves up while the other clung to their chest, as if they were in pain. Heavy pants rose into the air, making their thin shoulders shake under a beautiful sumari of rich colors — not the Academy’s colors, but the King’s.

It was Seraph Symonne.

Mikleo startled. She looked far worse than she had just two days ago, when Mikleo had last seen her during the parade. Her jet black hair looked thinner and frailer over her shoulders, with hints of gray that came from her very roots. Her fingers, splayed over the wall, were bony and twisted, like those of a person much, much older than the young seraph, the nails bitten to the quick and bloody. Her sumari seemed to engulf her shaky, small body, weighing her down to the point she could barely keep her knees from shaking.

The vision sent Mikleo back to barely a week ago — to Lailah having trouble to breathe after their prayers at the Meadow, fighting back the backlash from baring herself into the earthpulse.

“Beloved seraph…” Mikleo started, giving a few steps towards Symonne.

But the seraph’s head snapped up, black hair sticking to pale, sweaty temples and cheeks.

It took a moment for Symonne’s eyes to set on Mikleo’s form. And when they did, Mikleo saw that those colorful, vibrant eyes that had stared at the Academy during the parade with something like disgust now looked lifeless despite all the colors swimming in them. They looked dull under the line of her fringe, and they made a shiver run down Mikleo’s spine.

When their eyes finally met, the seraph blinked once, before letting out a bitter laugh that bubbled out of her mouth mingled with ragged breaths.

“Of course,” she gasped out, leaning heavily against the wall. She closed one eye from the pain, but the other stayed fixed on Mikleo. “Of course. The universe has a twisted sense of humor, does it not?”

Mikleo didn’t know what to reply; he wasn’t even sure Symonne was talking to him at all. She dragged her words out like people did when they were delirious. So Mikleo said nothing, but he still gave a step in the direction of the seraph, watching as her bloody fingers left imprints on the pristine, white wall.

“I—“

“Do not come any closer.” she snapped, once again staring at Mikleo with those dead eyes of hers. “I do not need you.”

Behind his mask, Mikleo frowned, narrowing his eyes at the seraph. Not for the first time, he gave thanks for the fact that he could hide his emotions behind his mask. He didn’t know how the Seraph managed to walk around without one, her feelings bared for the world to see.

He swallowed. No matter how bratty Symonne seemed to be, she was still precious to the Academy. Mikleo couldn’t let her suffer alone in a random corridor of the castle. “I could go seek help—“

“I can feel it, you know.” She said, speaking over Mikleo’s voice, pretending she hadn’t heard. Or maybe she wasn’t even pretending, and she was simply ignoring his words. Maybe she just didn’t care enough to answer. “Your power. Coming from you like a sickening sweet mist. It is probably why he stopped to look at you.”

 _Ah…_ Mikleo squared his jaw. He understood now where her hostility came from. “You mean the King.”

“I do,” Symonne replied, even though it hadn’t been a question. “He is easily distracted.” There was a smile in her mouth, not soft and tender like the one someone would make upon talking of the King… but a cold, twisted one that had Mikleo’s heart picking up its rhythm. Everything in Mikleo’s body screamed at him to leave.

But a moment later, Symonne’s face contorted in pain, and her mouth hung open as she tried to breathe past whatever was happening inside of her, coughing to alleviate the pressure. Mikleo rushed forward, gloved hands extended before himself towards her… But by the time she was within reach, it was over, and Mikleo could do nothing but watch as she straightened her back, wiped the corners of her mouth with the sleeve of her purple sumari, and tilted her face up to dedicate Mikleo a dark stare.

The color of her sumari was too deep to be sure, but Mikleo thought that the small drops that now stained her sleeved looked too much like blood.

“Do not let it get to your head.” She said, voice calm but a bit rough from her coughing. Her skin glistened with sweat under her now grayish hair. “You are a poppy in a field of daisies. But you are still a flower; and you will wither, just like the rest.”

Her words were like a dagger through Mikleo’s heart. They seemed to pierce right through his chest even if Mikleo couldn’t quite understand what she meant by them. But the way she said them, the disdain in her voice, made Mikleo grind his teeth and give a step back.

The illusion of the sacred seraph had been broken.

Symonne did nothing but observe him, eyes fixed on Mikleo’s mask, looking directly into his eyes as if she had no problem finding the slits in the mask. Her shoulders still shook with her ragged breath, but she seemed to be more in control now.

So Mikleo gave a step back, bowing his head as slightly as he could, and said: “If I cannot be of assistance to you, beloved seraph, I will make my leave.”

“Oh, do leave already.” She groaned, making an idle movement with her hand. Mikleo could see new sweat pooling at her temples and upper lip, as if she was making a great effort. “Before I lose my patience.”

Mikleo didn’t need more prompting. He left after that, turning around and stomping away without even realizing it wasn’t the direction he wanted to go.

He was angry. He was _furious_. The seraph’s words had been strange, the product of pain and confusion, but the tone behind them and her glare had made Mikleo livid, and he continued to stomp back to his room using a roundabout way that, despite allowing him more time to calm himself down, did nothing of the sort. His hands were curled into tight fists at his sides.

He pretended not to notice the small spark of fear Symonne had awakened in his heart. Mikleo would not give her the satisfaction.

 

* * *

 

That same night, Mikleo woke up feeling his heart was being pulled out of his chest.

He gasped into his pillow as pain paralyzed him. It was as if someone was reaching out into his very core, pulling at the deepest part of himself. It was the feeling he had when infusing magic into an amulet, only tenfold… and against his will.

He panicked. Mikleo threw himself off the bed, searching for a position that would allow him to breathe past his heavy chest, writhing on the ground as he clawed at it over his night clothes. Through eyes full of tears, Mikleo looked helplessly at the door, begging for someone to help him, grasping at the tendrils of magic that escaped from him and fighting to weave them into a wish.

_Sorey—!_

Just when Mikleo thought he was about to pass out, the pain stopped. It took a second for his exhausted brain to realize it, a second in which Mikleo could do nothing but heave dryly on the floor, feeling his nightclothes stick to his skin with cold sweat. Everything around him was silent, save for the erratic beating of his heart, and the jagged sound of his own breathing going in and out of his lungs.

 _‘What… what was that?’_ Mikleo couldn’t help but wonder through the mist of his mind, slowly rising to all fours. His arms were shaking, and he could barely feel his legs, but now that he could breathe a little bit easier he could feel the panic receding, being replaced by worry.

Mikleo had never experienced something like that. Such a deep, lacerating pain… the feel of his magic escaping him… And, the worst of all, not being able to do anything about it.

He hated it. Most of all, Mikleo hated feeling powerless, knowing that no matter what had just happened, there was no way he could have stopped it. He didn’t even know what it was—

The deep, loud sound of bells pealing broke the silence of the night, making Mikleo jump. It was the Academy bells, their rhythm fast and frenetic, not at all like the spaced sound they produced when the time of prayers was near.

No, this sound was more… Like an alarm. And that could only mean one thing.

The Academy was under attack.

Mikleo pushed himself up with sheer willpower, clinging to the edge of his desk when his legs failed him. He could hear people running through the other side of his door already, shouts and doors slamming open. Mikleo’s heart skipped an anxious beat as he reached for his mask, rushing to put it on before his own door was forced open and two knights charged inside, both of them looking around before settling their eyes on Mikleo, who breathed heavily behind his mask.

“My mage,” one of the knights began, stepping further into the room. Mikleo didn’t recognize any of them. “We must—“

“Are we under attack?” Mikleo said, flinching when it was more a wheeze than actual words. But the knight closest to him seemed to understand, and she quickly shook her head, gripping her sword tighter in her hand.

“We don’t know, my mage.” She said. “But it is important that we get you out of here. Blue and green mages are to be taken to the Meadow for protection while us knights investigate further.”

Mikleo frowned. He was still having trouble thinking, but he could hear the pressure behind the knight’s voice. Whatever had happened, it had unsettled the knights deeply as well. “What about the rest of the mages…?”

“Lower rank mages are to stay in their rooms.” The other knight replied from the door, throwing a glance outside when another pair of knights passed by, a green mage between them. “We cannot waste any more time, my mage. We have to leave now.”

The woman walked closer, bare hands extended before her. Mikleo knew she was just worried, that she just wanted to help Mikleo be able to stand without the need of the desk— but the feel of his magic being yanked away from him was still on the surface of Mikleo’s mind, still made his body tender, and he suddenly felt the need to protect himself more than he had ever felt it before.

Mikleo moved back and away from the knight instinctively, bumping his hip against the corner of the desk. He winced, but the action was hidden behind his mask.

“Please, do not touch me.” Mikleo begged, trying to control his breathing. His shoulders shook with every intake.

The woman knight moved closer, but she did not try to touch him again. “I understand. But we need to go, my mage. I will not touch you as long as you can keep up with us.”

Mikleo swallowed hard. He knew how fast and strong knights were. There was no way he would be able to keep up with them.

But there was no way he wasn’t going to try.

He let his hand slip away from the desk as he nodded, standing on both of his feet.

“Let us go, then.” He said, and the knight by the door started leading the way out.

Outside of his room, the Academy had been thrown into chaos. But it was mostly knights running around, the bright colors of their kamui a jarring contrast against the plain colors of the mages’ nightclothes. They rushed by so fast that Mikleo could not see their features, all of them becoming blurs of color in the fields of his vision.

It didn’t matter, anyway. He was too busy forcing his legs to continue running after one of his knights, to breathe through his nose instead of his mouth as his body demanded. Sorey had told him about that small trick ages ago, but it had stuck with Mikleo for some reason, probably because he couldn’t even imagine his body demanding something like that from him.

It was way harder than he had expected.

They didn't run into any enemies on their way to the Meadow. Mikleo knew his knights were slowing down their pace for his sake, and he was grateful for that. He could feel the woman knight behind him, ready to catch him if needed.

He didn’t need it though. He wouldn’t let himself need it.

Finally, the entrance of the Meadow came into view, and Mikleo had to slow down so as not to run into the knight at his front. He couldn’t help but gasp for air at the sight of the double doors, allowing air to rush through his mouth, cold and painful. Mikleo immediately felt a throb at his side from the small run, but he was too fixated on looking into the Meadow to process the pain.

“Green!” The knight behind him shouted to the knights at the door, not the two that were usually there but what seemed to be about thirty, all of them with their arms ready and tense. “Let us through!”

The sea of knights parted to let Mikleo pass inside, where he doubled over himself with his hands on his knees the moment his naked feet touched the soft grass of the Meadow. He could feel more sweat brewing behind his mask and heat making the inside of it almost unbearable.

But he had done it. He had run to safety on his own.

Mikleo felt his heartbeat spike up for a completely different reason.

“Mikleo-san!”

Mikleo’s head snapped up. The interior of the Meadow was softly illuminated by the lamps that hung from the pillars that gave form to the Meadow, their warm light reflecting against the glass. There was a small group of mages pressed against the northern glass wall — no more than fifteen — and one of them was coming towards him. A blue one, their long hair flowing over a soft, blue nightgown, and like the rest of them, their features were hidden behind a mask.

It took Mikleo a moment to recognize her without her usual braid over her shoulder.

“Lailah!”

A wave of relief surged through Mikleo the moment he saw Lailah was safe and alright. He hadn't even thought about it, but it was clear to him in that moment that a part of him had been scared of something happening to his friend. He straightened his back and jogged to her, not even caring about the burning in his legs.

“Mikleo-san!” Lailah exclaimed once again when he stopped in front of her. “I am so glad you are okay—!”

“Lailah, what happened?” Mikleo asked hurriedly, looking around. The mages were together deeper into the Meadow, close but with a comfortable space between them, while the group of knights Mikleo had seen upon arriving were clustered around the door like a protective wall. There seemed to be no signs of danger, but — “Are we under attack?”

When Lailah shook her head, her free hair bounced behind her as if moved by a soft breeze. “I do not know. The knights do not want to say until they have more information, but…”

“Last one!” Someone shouted from the door, and both Mikleo and Lailah turned towards the sound. “We’re on lockdown!”

As the last green mage was led inside, the doors of the Meadow slammed shut, caging inside mages and knights alike. There was only the rattling of the glass, the soft whispers of the mages behind Mikleo, and the tension emanating from the knights in front of him.

He hadn’t realized he had ended up between the two groups until Lailah started to move back.

“Before the alarm started to sound…” Mikleo started, walking with her towards the mages. “I felt something. It was—“

“I felt it too.” Lailah said with a nod. “Something upset the earthpulse enough for us to feel it.”

“The earthpulse?”

“Yes,” Lailah looked over her shoulder, at the knights, and then learnt close to Mikleo to explain. “Something reached out from inside the earthpulse and unsettled the equilibrium. What you felt was a ripple, Mikleo-san. The earthpulse reached out to us, hoping we would help it restore the balance.”

“But who?” Mikleo asked, feeling his heart clench. “Who could do that? And with what purpose?”

Even despite the mask, Mikleo knew Lailah was frowning as she said: “I do not know. But for the earthpulse to create a response strong enough to alert the knights— it must have been someone incredibly powerful.”

Mikleo let out a shaky breath. “Do you think… Kuba Empire has someone like that among them?”

Lailah’s answer took a moment to arrive. But when it did, Mikleo wished he had never asked. “If they do… We might have to start praying harder, Mikleo-san.”

The voices of the knights rose in volume as they spoke between them, making Mikleo turn towards them once more. They seemed tense but ready, nothing at all like they had been during their training a few days back. There was confusion in their features as well, but they didn’t let that deter them.

They were ready to fight and protect.

Nothing else mattered.

Naturally, Mikleo’s mind went to Sorey, and his heart skipped a beat at imagining him outside of the security of the Meadow, facing whoever was out there without Mikleo’s amulets to protect him, without his blessing. What if he was alone? What if he was injured? What if—?

As if his thoughts had summoned him, Sorey appeared in Mikleo’s field of vision, among the rest of the knights. He wasn’t looking at Mikleo but talking to a fellow knight, and still Mikleo felt warm relief flowing through his veins. Sorey was there, and well, and yes he was ready to fight, but—

Without thinking about what he was doing, Mikleo started walking towards the knights.

“Mikleo-san!?”

Mikleo pretended not to hear Lailah calling after him. He needed answers. He needed to know what they were fighting against because Mikleo would fight as well. As long as Sorey was in a battlefield, Mikleo would be in it too.

One way or another.

Sorey was talking to another knight by the edge of the knights’ group, their hushed tones barely audible over the voices of the other knights. Mikleo couldn’t recognize Sorey’s companion, which meant it wasn’t any of his mates. Mikleo had seen all the members of Sorey’s barrack at random times during the years, and that man wasn’t one of them, he was sure of it.

Heart beating fast in his ribcage, Mikleo walked until he was standing right behind Sorey, feeling his naked palms tingle. Had it really been only two days since they had last seen each other? It felt like so much more time had passed…. But that wasn’t the moment to think of that.

Mikleo inhaled sharply, and spoke.

“Sor—Knight!”

Sorey turned around so fast that Mikleo didn’t see the movement. He only saw Sorey’s feather earring move to rest softly once again against his shoulder, and Sorey’s green eyes grow wide when he saw Mikleo standing in front of him. His mouth fell open with surprise, and a soft questioning sound emanated from his lips.

Mikleo’s heart clenched inside his chest, but he said nothing.

Instead, he observed as Sorey recovered from his surprise and straightened his spine, quickly adopting his saluting stance and bowing slowly in front of Mikleo.

It was a perfect cover, but Mikleo could still see Sorey’s eyes sneaking glances upwards towards him.

“My lord,” Sorey whispered, rising from his bow. “Is there anything you need?”

“I need answers.” Mikleo replied, looking over Sorey’s shoulder to find the other knight had disappeared from sight. Mikleo had never been so grateful for the reluctance of the knights to speak to mages. He directed his eyes back towards Sorey, who regarded him with a mixture of emotions that Mikleo pretended not to see for the moment. “Are we under attack?”

“I am afraid I…” Sorey started, and then shook his head. Throwing a glance behind himself, Sorey lead them a little further away from the knights, never once loosening the grip on his sword. “I don’t know, Mikleo.” Sorey continued once he was sure no one could listen in on them. Mikleo was surprised at how much relief he felt at Sorey dropping the politeness. “We were woken up by a big sound, like an explosion. By the time we were running here the alarm bells were ringing and I had already separated from the others. There’s a group scouting the Academy right now, and we’re supposed to wait for their report to decide on our next move.” Sorey shook his head again. “Aside from that, I know nothing.”

Mikleo felt his mouth dry up. “What do _you_ think?”

“I think…” Sorey sighed, and the grip on his sword went a bit slacker. “I think something bad is going on. But still… It doesn’t feel like an attack. Everything’s too… calm.”

“But then, what else can it be?” Mikleo demanded, taking one step forward. “If it isn’t an attack…”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t an attack.” Sorey shook his head, and his eyes went a bit clouded as he looked to the side. “Just that it doesn’t feel like one.”

“If it is an attack… Will you have to go out there?”

“Yeah.” Sorey sighed, looking back towards the knights once again. “If there is someone to fight, a group will stay here to protect you while others go outside. But don’t worry, you’ll be safe here—“

“That’s not what I’m worried about!” Mikleo exclaimed, making Sorey jump. He should be more careful, Mikleo knew that, but he was so tired and so worried… “I’m worried about you, Sorey.” He continued, even though Sorey’s head snapped back towards him with surprise. “Lailah said whoever was able to shake the earthpulse like that must be incredibly powerful. For you to fight against them—“

Sorey blinked, lips falling open a bit as all of his focus centered on Mikleo. “Wait, the earthpulse? Did something happen to it? Mikleo, are you alright!?”

There was such urgency in Sorey’s voice that Mikleo didn’t even feel the spike of fear upon being overheard. He simply let himself feel the warmth Sorey’s worry inspired in him, forgetting for a second how selfish that was. It had been two days since they last had seen each other, and though they had been through much longer periods of time without seeing the other — this was the first time it had been due to a painful argument.

And Mikleo had tried not to think about it, but he had missed his friend so much…

“I’m alright.” Mikleo muttered, smiling at Sorey, who immediately smiled back with relief. “But this is serious, Sorey. Please, be careful.”

“I will!” Sorey exclaimed, dedicating Mikleo the first genuine, bright smile of the night. “Don’t worry, Mikleo!”

Mikleo sighed, though the corners of his mouth were already curling upwards. “It’s a little late for that…”

By then, the knights seemed to be a little bit more agitated. It seemed like, same as the mages, the more time it went by without news of what was going on beyond the doors, the more worried the knights became. They kept bumping each other's shoulders, checking for their weapons once and then twice again. It wasn’t the kind of nervousness that spoke of fear, but of the need to do something.

Mikleo observed them with his heart beating fast in his chest. He, too, felt the need to act.

“Listen, Mikleo…” Sorey started, and when Mikleo turned his gaze towards him once again he found that Sorey hadn’t looked away from him even once. There was a guilty look in Sorey’s eyes, but what unsettled Mikleo deeply was the sad turn of his mouth, the same one he had seen two nights ago on the rooftop. Mikleo hated that turn. “About the other night, I…”

“It’s alright.” Mikleo rushed to say. He didn’t want the weird feelings to come back, not now that Sorey was smiling at him like he always did. “You don’t have to say anything—“

“No, I do.” Sorey continued, interrupting Mikleo and inhaling deeply. “I was selfish and I made things hard for you. And you don’t deserve that, Mikleo.”

Mikleo felt his chest clench. There was a question at the tip of his tongue, begging to be let out in the open, but Mikleo knew how much of a bad idea it would be to do just that. Sorey was giving them both a way out of the dark feelings, so they could go back to the way things used to be.

But the thing was, Mikleo didn’t want that to happen. He didn’t want Sorey to hide behind a smile, not when he was hurting like this. Sorey had given up a lot for them to continue being friends.

Mikleo wouldn’t let him give away anything else.

Because, Mikleo had just realized, Sorey wasn’t apologizing for acting like that on the rooftop, so desperate, almost demanding. Sorey was apologizing for letting the feelings that had prompted that moment to show in the first place.

And that was… such an awful thing to do.

So Mikleo gave one step forward and, biting down on his lower lip behind his mask, he lifted a hand in Sorey’s direction. “Sorey—“

“Sorey!”

Both Sorey and Mikleo jumped apart, startled by the sudden voice calling Sorey’s name. There was a knight running towards them — towards Sorey —, with a sword bumping softly against their hip. It was a young woman, her black hair floating over her shoulders, pushed away from her face by the knights’ usual headband, and her blue eyes so penetrating that Mikleo couldn’t help but stare into them.

“Sirel!” Sorey called back, moving away from Mikleo to greet the knight halfway.

They met naturally. Sorey’s arm moved forward, his hand cupping gently the girl’s elbow, right over the piece of armor, at the same time that Sirel’s hand gripped Sorey’s forearm, her long, pale fingers creating wrinkles in the fabric of Sorey’s kamui. Mikleo stared at their joined arms, marveling at the ease with which the contact had been made, the way both their bodies seemed to relax, as if the feel of the other’s hand was all the reassurance they needed.

With a heavy heart, Mikleo wondered if that had been what Sorey had been looking for in the rooftop, when he had moved to grab Mikleo’s hand. Reassurance.

And if it was… What kind, exactly?

“Sirel, are there any news?” Sorey asked in a low voice, but not low enough for Mikleo not to hear him. “What’s going on?”

The girl, Sirel, wasn’t even breathing heavily despite having been running, so she was able to give Sorey her answer quickly. Mikleo felt a little envious at that. “That’s why we’re here. Captain Maltran instructed us to come and inform you guys.” She winced then, her pretty blue eyes mere slits under her long eyelashes. Mikleo risked a glance around; the big group of knights had divided into smaller ones, and they were standing alert as they listened to other knights tell them the news. “You’re not gonna like this.”

“Just tell me, Sirel.” Sorey begged, tightening his hold on the knight’s elbow. “Is everyone okay?”

Sirel sighed. “There are no signs of security being breached.” She said. Mikleo was about to sigh with relief, but one look at Sorey’s face made his breath catch in his chest. His friend looked even more troubled than before, and that sent fear crawling up Mikleo’s spine. “We’ve searched the whole castle and we’ve found no one. But the royal wing is devastated, Sorey. The windows shattered, the furniture is all broken… It’s like a tornado went off inside, it was crazy.”

Mikleo felt nausea churning in his stomach. The King had been attacked. Glenwood’s greatest hope had been attacked, and no knight nor mage had been able to prevent it. Not even the mages’ magic, always protecting the white walls of the Academy and anyone who lived inside had been enough to prevent all of this.

It was almost suffocating for Mikleo to think about.

“Casualties?” Sorey asked in a small voice, the way people did when they were afraid of the answer. Mikleo’s hands tightened into fists as he, too, waited for an answer from the woman knight.

If the King was dead, then—

“Three royal guards dead.” Sirel replied, voice grave. “Two injured, almost critical. King and Seraph are being guarded by the rest of the Royal Guard, but they are all right.”

Mikleo felt his knees go weak with relief. The King was okay. He was safe. Every day and every night, mages prayed for the safety and wellbeing of their king. For it all to go to waste in the blink of an eye—

“Anyone else?”

Mikleo’s eyes went to Sorey once again, and only by looking at the side of his face Mikleo knew something bothered Sorey a lot. But what? As far as Mikleo knew, Sorey didn’t know anyone in the Royal Guard, and the King and Seraph were alright, so…

But Sirel winced again, and Mikleo felt dread coiling low in his heart again.

“…Captain Strelka was patrolling near the royal wing when everything happened.” Sirel finally said, and Mikleo heard Sorey inhale sharply. “He was injured… but he’s fine, Sorey! The… explosion or whatever that was made Sergei crash against a wall and break his arm. But Captain Maltran says he was ordering people to let him fight, so he must be okay…”

“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right.” Sorey whispered, soon shaking his head and smiling softly at the other knight. “Thanks, Sirel. Will you tell me if you learn something else?”

“Of course!” She replied, and squeezed Sorey’s forearm one last time before letting go of it. “You know I’ve got your back.”

“And I yours. Your girls doing alright?”

Sirel shrugged. “They’re all tough. Though I’m sure Ian is already driving Boris crazy. She’s up there with the archers.”

Mikleo half expected Sorey to smile or laugh at Sirel’s playful tone, but he did neither. He only nodded and raised his closed fist for Sirel to bump, which she did with a regretful smile. “I almost didn’t tell you because I knew you would worry. Concentrate on guarding the mages, okay?”

Sorey jumped slightly at her words, and Mikleo observed as his eyes moved back towards where Mikleo stood, only for a fleeting second, but long enough for Mikleo’s heart to skip a beat. Something passed between them, something that made Mikleo want to step closer enough to Sorey to touch… But Sorey looked back to Sirel and the moment was gone.

“Sure thing! Be careful out there.”

“You too. See you later!”

She said her goodbyes as she started to run back to the entrance, the newly arrived knights following her soon after. Sorey and Mikleo watched them leave through a slim slit; the knights inside the meadow didn’t want to risk someone getting injured while the other knights left the Meadow. The cold night air swept through the opening, playing with the grass blades and curling itself around Mikleo’s naked ankles.

However, Mikleo paid the cold no mind. He was too busy regarding Sorey, whose fake smile had fallen the moment Sirel had been out of sight. There was such a pained expression on Sorey’s features now that Mikleo wanted… He wanted to touch him. He wanted to give him the reassurance Sirel’s touch had given him. Mikleo wanted Sorey to lean on him, to take the strength that he might need from him—

But the memory of his magic being forcefully removed was too fresh on Mikleo’s mind, and he contented himself with curling his arms around his own chest.

He didn’t want to risk feeling the same again by giving in to his desires.

“Huh? Mikleo, are you cold?”

“Mm?”

Mikleo looked up to find Sorey close to him once again, tilting his head down to whisper Mikleo’s name. The troubled expression hadn’t left his face, but now it was directed at Mikleo, Sorey’s green eyes so intent they almost felt like burning.

“You’re holding your arms pretty tightly,” Sorey continued, pointing at Mikleo’s hands on his own arms with his chin. And, sure enough, Mikleo’s knuckles were white against his naked arms, right under the hem of his short shirtsleeves.

But it wasn’t because of the cold. Mikleo was simply holding himself back bodily, keeping his emotions in check with sheer willpower.

He could feel Sorey’s warmth coming off him in inviting waves. There was no way Mikleo could feel cold staring by his side.

“I am fine.” Mikleo finally said, letting his arms fall to his sides.

And that little action seemed to spark something in Sorey, who suddenly blushed furiously and gaped like a fish, his hand flying to cover his own cheek, then his eyes, only to finally rest against the side of his neck, rubbing it nervously. His reddened skin moved over his Adam’s apple when he swallowed hard.

Mikleo frowned at him, and at Sorey’s sudden inability to establish eye contact. “What is wrong with you?”

“You… I just… You’re— Nightclothes!” Sorey sputtered, looking up at the glass ceiling of the Meadow with his hand still on his neck.

“…Yes?” Mikleo pressed, not understanding. “I am wearing my nightclothes. Like I have been doing for the past hour that we’ve been here?”

“I just—!” Sorey inhaled sharply, letting it all out a moment later in a long exhale. He looked calmer when he returned his gaze to Mikleo, but the red of his skin hadn’t disappeared yet. “Aren’t you… uncomfortable?”

“…In my nightclothes?” Mikleo looked down at himself. He wore the same nightclothes he always wore — thin, long white pants rimmed with green thread that reached his naked ankles and a camisole that went past his thighs but that left his arms naked to the chilled air of his room. It was different in the Meadow — the earthpulse kept the place pleasantly warm with its magic —, but in his room Mikleo had a green, velvety robe that he could wear over his nightclothes. He had been in too much of a rush before to remember to grab it, but it wasn’t like it mattered much. “Yes, I am pretty comfortable…?”

“But it’s so thin—!” When Sorey realized Mikleo wasn’t seeing where Sorey was going with his argument, he let his shoulders drop and a sigh escape from his mouth. His blush was now barely a hint under his tanned skin, but his eyes were more luminous than they had been all night, and they sent a spark of excitement through Mikleo’s veins. He didn’t dwell much on it, though. “I just… Anyway—“ Sorey continued, cutting himself before shaking his head and smiling at Mikleo. “Just let me know if you want a coat or something, okay? Even if you aren’t cold, I… I can get you something to cover…”

“I’m fine. Really.” Mikleo let a bit of fond annoyance slide into his voice, smiling back at Sorey from behind his mask. “And Sorey? Stop worrying so much. I’m stronger than you think.”

Sorey startled, his right hand closing tightly around the hilt of his sword. His feather earrings followed the movement of his whole body, the longest one bumping softly against his shoulder. “I know that!”

Mikleo’s smile stretched up a bit at Sorey’s indignation. “Same thing goes for Sergei. He’ll be okay.”

At that, Sorey’s shoulders slumped. “I know,” he repeated, looking at Mikleo from under his lashes with sad eyes. Mikleo’s heart skipped a beat. “I just… I can’t help it. I trust in all of them, in their abilities, and in that they will be okay in the end. But…”

“But you care about them,” Mikleo continued for him. His chest hurt so badly for Sorey that, for a long moment, he forgot about what was going on around them. Who they were supposed to be and what they weren’t allowed to be. “So you worry. I understand.”

The voices of the knights seemed to raise in volume in that moment, drowning every other sound, transforming into a wave of indiscernible sounds. Or maybe it was just Mikleo, who could hear nothing but white noise when Sorey’s gentle eyes pinned him down to the spot, making his skin crawl under his thin clothes and sturdy mask.

It was funny, Mikleo thought, how Sorey’s gaze had the same feel to it as reaching willingly into the earthpulse did. Exciting and warm.

Familiar.

“…Then you know why I worry about you too!” Sorey grinned, his smile brighter than any light in the Meadow. Mikleo’s heart skipped another beat. “Just let me know if you need anything. Okay?”

Mikleo shook his head. He could feel a tingle in the tips of his fingers that was almost distracting by then, and the fine hair in his arms stand on end against the warm air of the Meadow. But that didn’t stop him from nodding, watching as another smile bloomed on Sorey’s mouth. “Fine,” Mikleo said with a small sigh. “But I don’t see why—Ah!!”

It felt like what Mikleo thought being stabbed would feel like — a lacerating, mind-blowing pain that went through his chest, burning from the center and outwards, only growing more and more intense as Mikleo fought to breathe past the pain, to no avail. Mikleo’s legs trembled, and he couldn’t help falling to his knees as he clutched his chest, letting out a choking, painful sound that seemed to claw its way up Mikleo’s throat.

It was happening again. The feeling of his magic being torn off his very core, the feeling of helplessness as Mikleo could do nothing but grasp at the magic that slipped through his fingers like water. Only now it was tenfold, excruciating enough that Mikleo’s sight and hearing went off for almost half a minute. Thirty long seconds in which Mikleo was abandoned to pure, raw pain.

They were the worst thirty seconds of his life.

But when they passed, he found himself curled over his knees on the grass of the Meadow, clawing at his own chest — and Sorey kneeling in front of him, hands extended in front of him, as if trying to reach Mikleo but not once touching him. His hearing took a moment longer to come back, making Sorey’s screams of his name reach him first when it finally did. Mikleo had half a thought of telling him to stop, to remember where they were, but it didn’t really matter.

The Meadow had been thrown into chaos and confusion. The knights were moving around aimlessly as the mages, like Mikleo, fought to breathe and keep themselves conscious past the pain. They were all in the same state, writhing on the ground in their nightwear. It was difficult to breathe through the mask, the air that reached him through the slits not enough.

Still, Mikleo didn’t think about any of that, not about the pain, not about the other mages. There was something out there that demanded Mikleo’s attention like a bright light… or the sudden lack thereof. It was like feeling your blankets being yanked off your body, like taking a step forward and not finding ground beneath your sole.

It was—

“The wards.” Mikleo wheezed, and before Sorey could ask what he meant, another mage shouted what Mikleo already knew.

“The wards!” They screamed, their voice feeble and weak, but it still carried over the Meadow, bringing with them a tense silence. “The wards are down!”

“What does that mean?” A knight shouted, moving closer to the kneeling mages. Mikleo observed them over his shoulder, saw them all shivering and struggling, green and blues alike.

Mikleo swallowed thickly. He wouldn't have admitted it out loud, but he was scared.

“It means… that we are… defenseless.” Another mage explained, shockingly moving to their feet. They were unstable, but they managed to stand up on their own, their blue nightgown brushing against their ankles and their mask perfectly arranged over their features. “And there is not much we can do about it.”

As the knights started to speak up, shouting questions and orders back and forth, Mikleo felt Sorey move closer to him. There was a small part of Mikleo’s mind —an anxiety-ridden, nagging part — that kept fretting at Sorey’s proximity, at the fact that they were at plain sight… But he was too tired to do anything against it.

Or, at least, that was what Mikleo told himself.

“What’s going on?” Sorey whispered hurriedly. His hands fluttered nervously around Mikleo, but never touching.

“…Our blessing is gone.” Mikleo replied, pushing down the fear that he could already feel rising up inside himself. “The wards are… what protects the Academy and Pendrago from any major attacks. They are formed by our… blessings, and strengthened through our morning prayers.” Shaking lightly, Mikleo let his head fall forward, hands still pressed against his chest. “And now they are gone.”

“Can’t we do anything to bring them back up?” Sorey asked, looking around, as if the answer was going to appear in front of his eyes.

“…Not fast enough.” Mikleo finally looked up then, but not at Sorey. He looked at the mages, at the small cluster of people in nightclothes that spoke to each other with hushed tones and tense shoulders. “Only the Seraph could, and—“

The memory of Symonne’s bloody hand against the wall, and her pained expression, crossed through Mikleo’s mind in the blink of an eye. There was no way the Seraph would be able to help them, not when Mikleo had seen her in such bad condition barely hours before.

The mages were on their own.

“But she’s in the Royal wing with the King.” Sorey nodded. Mikleo pretended that was what he had been about to say, and let Sorey continue. “So, what now?”

Mikleo’s eyes didn’t leave the mages’ group when he said: “I need to get up.”

“Wha—wait!”

Mikleo paid him no mind. Gingerly but surely, he moved his hands to press them against the ground, trying to get himself to his feet. But Mikleo’s knees were weak from the pain, and he soon sank his knees back on the grass, grunting and grinding his teeth.

“Damn it—“

“Wait, Mikleo, let me hel—“

“ _No_.” Mikleo snapped, and immediately regretted it. Sorey wasn’t to blame for his weak body, Mikleo knew that, but it was still frustrating. He wanted to do this much for himself. “I can do it.”

Setting his jaw, Mikleo prepared himself to get up once again. He moved one leg so he was kneeling only on his other one, pressing down on his thigh with his hands to push himself up—but his arms were weak too; so, so weak that Mikleo felt nausea roll deep in his stomach.

He had never felt so useless in his life. But he had to help the other mages, be with them now that they were all lost and scared. They had to bring the wards up somehow—

There was a whoosh, and Mikleo raised his head in time to see Sorey thrusting his sword into the ground, into the grass, right in front of Mikleo. Mikleo blinked at it, at Sorey’s knuckles pressing against his skin from how tightly he was holding the tilt, just to move his gaze to Sorey’s. He found him looking at him already, eyes steady and encouraging.

When Sorey moved his hands away from the sword and moved back a bit, leaving the weapon in front of Mikleo still, Mikleo understood.

Licking his dry lips, Mikleo reached out to touch the hilt of the sword with his fingers. It was still warm from Sorey’s contact, and it was rough to the touch, though very much worn from use. Mikleo gingerly wrapped both his hands around it, feeling a different kind of power come off it than the one Mikleo was used to. It was raw power, physical, one that had nothing to do with earthpulses and wishes. Solid power, not magic.

Mikleo gripped the hilt tightly and pushed.

He got to his feet in a swift movement, arms trembling from the effort but pulling Mikleo up with no trouble nonetheless.

Mikleo met Sorey’s eyes then, over the sword that stood between them. They said nothing, and at the same time said it all.

A second later, Mikleo let his hands slide away from the sword and walked back to the mages, his back towards Sorey.

 

* * *

 

They mages were, simply put, freaking out. Or they were freaking out as much as mages were able to, which meant they were nervously wringing their hands as they talk to each other, their masks turning from one mage to the next, all of them hoping someone —anyone— would come up with a plan or would take care of the situation.

Mikleo’s heart clenched. Only a handful of mages were on their feet, two blues and three greens. The rest stayed on the ground, trying to calm themselves down after the fall of the wards. Lailah was among them, Mikleo was sad to see, sitting on her knees as she hid her mask behind a curtain of long, pale hair. He thought about going to her, offering a kind word, but Mikleo knew it wouldn’t be appreciated.

So he walked closer to the blue mages that were standing, wincing at the pain in his tense limbs.

By now, Mikleo already had a pretty good idea of what had happened. Whatever had first reached into the earthpulse had done it again, drawing so much magic out of it that the earthpulse had reached out for support from the first sources that it had found.

And those were the mages, who had been standing right in the Meadow, where the earthpulse was stronger… And the wards, which were full of magic and the mages’ wishes.

Mikleo bit down on the inside of his lower lip. The wards weren’t a physical barrier, but they still were a huge part of the security of the Academy, the Tower, and the city of Pendrago. They diminished the strength of their enemies and increased the one of their own knights. If Kuba Empire were to attack now, with the wards down and the mages barely keeping themselves on their feet—

Mikleo didn’t want to think about it.

“We have to do something.” One of the standing blue mages was saying. They were small but round, their messy, gray hair falling just enough to cover their ears and the front of their mask. By the tone of his voice, Mikleo identified him as Lord Belius. “We cannot lose anymore time—“

“It is not like we can do anything.” One of the green mages said. “The only one who can pull the wards up fast enough is the Seraph! And we cannot bring her here right now…”

A tense silence ran through the small group of mages. It was like they were in their own bubble, in their own space. Now that Mikleo was with them, he couldn’t even hear the knights’ voices, not even feel their presence. It was just his fellow mages, their anxiety and fear as present in Mikleo’s heart as his own.

“Maybe we will not be able to pull them back up as fast as the Seraph—“ Another of the blue mages started to say, their voice low and tranquil. Their deep blue hair made it easy to identify them: it was Lord Uno, calmly assessing the situation and stepping up to help. “—But we may be able to do something, no matter how little it is. A weak ward is better than no wards at all.”

“But, my Lord…” A green mage continued, stepping forward. “Only blue mages are strong enough to handle the process of creating a new blessing. And after the last blow from the earthpulse…”

The mage didn’t finish their thought, but there was no need. Mikleo and the others quickly understood what they meant. There was a way to raise the wards once again, if albeit probably too slow— but it would cost the blue mages too much.

They would not be able to survive the process.

His heart about to burst out of his chest, Mikleo turned to look at Lailah. She was still kneeling on the ground, but she had finally raised her head, and her long mane fell over her back like a long, beautiful veil. She looked regal and composed in that moment, proud.

She was ready to face whatever consequences may arrive to her.

And Mikleo understood. He understood the willingness to sacrifice oneself for the kingdom, because he himself felt it. They would give their lives for its protection, would give away their health and human lifespan to be able to use their magic. It was an ideal deeply rooted in every mage, and they were proud of it.

But to let the blue mages, to let _Lailah_ , give their lives away on their own— Mikleo couldn’t allow that.

Not when there was another choice.

“The backlash will be less severe if us green mages help.” Mikleo spoke up, feeling any tension his body had leave alongside his words. Immediately, everyone’s masks were turned towards him, but Mikleo did not let that deter him. He continued on, putting all the conviction he felt behind his words. “If we act like filters and help to control the flow of magic while blue mages concentrate on re-establishing the wards—“

“That is stupid!” Lord Belius shouted. “You will last no more than a few minutes! Green mages are not capable of enduring such a high level of magic. It will just be more lives lost, and I will not allow it.”

“And should we stand aside while you give up your lives?” Mikleo fired back, making a gesture with his hand. “ _I_ will not allow that.”

“You may die.” It was Lord Uno who spoke this time, his dyed blue hair catching the light of the lamps. He spoke softly, but with all honesty. “There is a high chance your body will not withstand this level of magic.”

Mikleo squared his shoulders and raised his chin. “If I have to die, then so be it. But I will not stand aside when I know my aid will make the wards come back faster. I will not endanger the Academy for my own sake.”

“…You have spoken like a true mage.” Lord Uno said, bowing his head slightly in respect towards Mikleo. “Very well. If the green mages wish to join us, they will be welcome. But it will be at their own accord.”

No green mage stood back. Slowly but surely, all mages reunited in the Meadow came to their feet to stand closer together, forming a circle with space enough between them to slightly raise their hands, one palm up, the other down. Mikleo found himself next to Lord Uno, with whom he shared a nod before looking forward.

Lailah made sure to pass by him before taking her place in the circle. “Mikleo-san…”

“It will be okay, Lailah.” Mikleo told her, smiling at her through the mask. “We will protect everyone.”

Maybe it was just Mikleo’s imagination, but he thought he could hear a smile on Lailah’s voice when she said: “I know you will, Mikleo-san.”

“And what can _we_ do?

Mikleo turned to look behind himself, surprised at the new voice. The knights were right behind them, standing still and silent but ready for any orders they might be given. And, right at the head and closest to the mages, was Sorey, his sword once again back in his hand.

“This is not a matter of the knights.” Lord Uno replied, voice soft. “I am afraid there is nothing you can do.”

Sorey gave a step forward. “Then we will make sure no harm comes to you.” He said, and his eyes moved from Lord Uno to Mikleo, before saying: “We will protect you.”

The knights stomped their foot on the ground, signaling their agreement. Mikleo felt a surge of magic go through him, giving him the strength he felt he lacked, but it wasn’t just magic what he felt. There was also the same physical power he had felt upon touching Sorey’s sword, and it seemed to come from the knights. The same knights that had just promised to protect them while they brought the blessing back to the area.

Mikleo would not fail. He would protect them all.

“Let us begin, my mages.” Lord Uno said, and moved his hands to hover over and below the hands of the mages by his sides.

The moment all of their hands were as joined as they could be without touching, magic started to flow.

At first it was easy, calming, not at all unlike their morning and nightly prayers. Mikleo felt himself relax into the familiarity of the feeling, the equilibrium between himself and the earthpulse lulling him into some kind of trance.

But it soon changed when the natural force became demanding. Mikleo felt his chest getting heavier with each intake, with each beat of his heart, as his magic flowed into the earthpulse and into the land alongside their wishes of protection. The earthpulse was upset, Mikleo could feel it, and it kept taking more than what Mikleo was taking from it, more than what he could give. Mikleo felt his knees grow weak and his mouth go slack in pain as the equilibrium broke and his body fought to retain what was his.

It was too much. Mikleo did not possess the kind of energy the earthpulse demanded to re-establish the blessings… Maybe none of them did.

He didn’t know how much longer they would resist.

The first to go down was a green mage. Mikleo saw them gasp more than heard them, saw their chest heave and their head snap forward with enough force for their chin to hit their chest — and then they fell to the ground soundlessly, unmoving.

Mikleo wasn’t sure they were even breathing anymore.

But he forced his eyes away and concentrated on his own magic. It was his duty to protect the kingdom. It was his duty to protect the King. There was nothing more important than to fulfill that duty, and Mikleo pushed those feelings inside the earthpulse in the shape of wishes, praying for them to reach the land and contribute to the creation of new, stronger wards.

He could feel them rising up already, but they were far too slow. The wards were like a barrier, rising themselves off the ground and surrounding the Academy first, the epicenter of the magic itself. Then they would have to spread outwards, beyond the Tower and to the limits of the city of Pendrago, protecting everything and anything that laid inside. Mikleo had never known a time without wards — he and the other mages simply made sure they were reinforced every day and night, but he had never assisted to their creation from zero.

His vision swam. Mikleo blinked sweat and exhaustion out of his eyes, feeling his knees shake and his arms tremble with the effort of keeping them slightly up. How long had they been working with the earthpulse? It felt like hours, but their blessings hadn’t even reached the Tower yet. Other mages had fallen already, most of them greens that either lost consciousness or simply let go of the flow of magic, breaking the circle as they went down to their knees.

Mikleo couldn’t blame them for giving up. Had he been any other person, he would have done the same. His chest hurt so much he couldn’t feel anything else, couldn’t feel the shaking of his limbs nor the sweat crawling down his spine. There was only pain, pain and extenuation, and if it wasn’t for Mikleo’s sheer willpower he would have succumbed to the pain barely minutes after starting.

But he couldn’t give up just yet, he had decided. He wouldn’t.

And that was when Lailah fell.

Mikleo saw her crumple like a flower under a boot, folding in on herself, falling first to her knees and then to her side. Her long mane trailed after her, spilling over the grass and her torso like silver blood. Her chest became still after a shaky, last sigh. Mikleo’s heart drummed against his ribs, under all the layers of pain. He wanted to go to her. He wanted to heal her, to make sure she was safe…that she was alive.

He almost broke the circle to go to her. But something moved behind Lailah’s form, and Mikleo looked up in time to see Sorey standing a little ways from the circle, looking directly at Mikleo with his left arm crossed over his chest, clutching the fabric over his heart… No, not at the fabric. He was holding his necklace tightly in his hand, the black cord snug against the back of his neck. His eyes were fixed on Mikleo, and there was something urgent in them, as if he was trying to tell Mikleo something through his gaze, even though Mikleo had no idea what it could be.

But there was no need to know. Just a look at Sorey’s worried expression, at the tension in his shoulders, at the way his fingers clung to the necklace Mikleo had given him all of those years ago, and Mikleo realized he could not leave the circle of magic. That he would not do it, because leaving it meant turning his back on his duties as a mage. Everything he would have worked so hard for, everything he had given up to be able to be a powerful mage… none of that would matter if he stepped away. He had grown strong to protect what was important to him, after all.

No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it ached to see Lailah down on the ground, Mikleo would not surrender.

 _I will pray for you to my last breath_ , he thought to the kingdom letting his promise transform into power, and be sucked into the earthpulse.

 _I will make you proud_ , he promised to the King, and he transformed that into magic too, and once again let the earthpulse have it.

But then his eyes snapped back to Sorey, and a fire that burnt the pain away was ignited in his heart.

 _I will protect you_ , he said—he screamed inside his soul, but instead of letting the earthpulse take the raw magic Mikleo’s will created, Mikleo _pushed it_ into the earthpulse, forced it down while feeling the waves of magic enter and leave his body, enter and leave, time and time again.

And it all finally snapped into place. He was in tune with the earthpulse. Perfect equilibrium.

A moment later, the magic circle collapsed.

Mikleo’s vision went dark, his body limp, his mind blank. He was suspended in nothingness for a long heartbeat, a cold, empty darkness that made all the fire and magic Mikleo had felt in his chest extinguish. His whole body was submerged in coldness, as if someone had pushed him into a pool full of ice. He felt nothing but peace inside, bubbling softly under his skin and pulling him deeper in the darkness.

And then there were hands gripping his upper arms, holding him and preventing him from falling, when he hadn’t even realized he was moving. The hands were strong and firm but their grip didn’t hurt. What’s more, it was warm — so warm that it pushed the cold of the ice away, making heat spread from Mikleo’s arms to the rest of his body.

As the hands lowered him slowly to the ground, Mikleo woke up. He regained consciousness but he couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t open his mouth. He could hear, however, and he listened as around him nervous and scared voices fought to be heard above the rest. Mikleo tried to put together the pieces of what had happened (‘Did we make it? Are the wards up again?’)… But a voice sounded clearer than the rest, broken and so, so scared, that Mikleo could do nothing but concentrate on it, and only it.

The voice broke his heart.

“Mikleo…” Sorey whispered, so close that his breath hit Mikleo’s temple softly. “I’m so sorry, Mikleo, I’m sorry! Please, please, please be okay, please Mikleo…”

Mikleo tried to reply, but his mouth wouldn’t move. He was lying on the grass, on his back. He could feel the blades of grass tickling the undersides of his arms, and the back of his neck, but still he couldn’t move at all. Nothing in his body seemed to be listening to him, in fact. It was as if his body was asleep while his mind was wide awake, and Mikleo felt a small spark of fear bloom in his chest.

But the hands on his arms tightened, and the fear was replaced by something else.

He realized Sorey was holding him a moment before Sorey’s voice reached him again.

“I— please, I didn’t mean to! I just saw him falling, and I—!”

“Do try to calm yourself, my knight.” A familiar voice said, getting closer and closer to where Mikleo was laying down. It was Lord Uno; Mikleo could feel him kneeling down by his left. “You did nothing but prevent more harm coming to him. But do let go now. We must not push our luck today.”

There was a small hesitation, but a moment later the hands on Mikleo’s arms moved away. Mikleo immediately missed them, feeling cold there where Sorey’s hands had been pressed against his the fabric of his nightclothes. “…Is he okay?”

“…While we do appreciate your concern, my knight, maybe it would be best for you to step aside from now on.” Lord Uno said, voice soft but firm. “The health of our mages is not a matter of the knights.”

For a second, Mikleo thought Sorey would complain. He even had the words he would use to chastise Sorey for stepping over the line — but if Mikleo could have spoken, he wouldn’t have needed those words.

“…Understood.” Sorey whispered after a long second, and Mikleo listened attentively as Sorey got up and walked away without another word.

Now Mikleo felt even colder.

Lord Uno said nothing either. But he did move closer after a moment, removing Mikleo’s mask with tenderness and making the dark inside of Mikleo’s eyelids a few shades lighter. There were so many emotions swirling inside Mikleo that he couldn’t decide on one; he didn’t even feel exposed without his mask.

He was just so, so tired.

And, at the same time, he had never felt more alive.

Lord Uno touched his forehead with the back of a gloved hand, pushing Mikleo’s hair back. Then he touched his cheek, pressing down softly as if trying to seek a reaction. When he found none, he moved his hand away and, when Lord Uno touched him again, this time on the side of his neck, Mikleo was surprised to note he was not wearing gloves.

The contact only lasted for a few seconds, and immediately Mikleo heard Lord Uno slip the glove back on. “At least you are still alive…” He whispered, and relief flooded Mikleo’s veins. If Lord Uno knew he was alive, he could be reassured nothing would happen while he was in that frozen state.

At last, Lord Uno moved his gloved hand to Mikleo’s face once again, thumb brushing softly the skin of his right eyelid. With delicacy, Lord Uno pushed Mikleo’s eyelid upwards, and a burst of light blinded Mikleo for a moment. But then it passed, and through the tears that had accumulated in his eye Mikleo saw Lord Uno leaning over him, looking down at Mikleo with big, surprised eyes that quickly turned amused.

He wasn’t wearing his mask, either.

He had a very gentle face.

“I do not know why I am surprised…” Lord Uno whispered, before closing Mikleo’s eye once again. “What you did today was truly incredible, Lord Mikleo. If there is someone who deserves this, that is you.”

Mikleo’s heart skipped a beat. What—what was Uno talking about? What had happened while he had been asleep? Had they done it, had they reestablished the blessing in the Academy and the city—?

“How is the child?” A new voice asked, one that Mikleo couldn’t give a name to, but that he identified as another of the blue mages by the way of speaking.

“…He is a child no more.” Lord Uno replied, and Mikleo’s heart went crazy once again as the pieces came together. Uno’s surprised face upon looking into his eye, his choice of words… Mikleo understood right as Uno said: “He is our brother. Lord Mikleo is now a blue mage.”

 

* * *

 

Mikleo woke up in a bed with linen sheets in a dark room.

Only the light of the moon gave some clarity to the space around his bed. A quick look around told Mikleo he was in the infirmary, and a chill against his arms told him that the window over the bed had been left open.

His body felt like it weighed a ton and his head felt full of cotton. His tongue was heavy in his mouth, but somehow he knew he would be able to speak now if he were to try. It seemed like the paralysis that had made his body useless earlier had disappeared completely.

Earlier… how much time had passed? How had he ended up in the infirmary? Those were the questions swimming around in Mikleo’s mind. He was wearing a new, clean set of green nightclothes, and his mask rested by the bedside table next to the bed, glinting silver in the moonlight.

And he wasn't alone. A small sound by his right alerted him of the presence of someone else, a hunched figured sitting in a chair by the side of bed, head buried in arms that curled on top of the mattress. Even without the headband he always wore, even with the darkness of the room making his hair look darker, Mikleo would have recognized him anywhere. Sorey was sleeping with his cheek on his arms, as close to Mikleo’s side as he could get without touching him.

It was risky. It was plainly stupid for Sorey to risk it all like this. But Mikleo couldn’t help but smile at the stupidity and sweetness of it, and pushed himself up so he was sitting with his back against the headboard.

“Sorey.” Mikleo whispered, maybe too low. He leaned forward a bit, but Sorey didn’t even move. “Sorey, come on, wake up—“

Sorey woke up in an instant, sitting alert in his chair with his unruly hair and the creases of the fabric of his kamui imprinted on his cheek. He was alert and awake even before his eyes found Mikleo’s, a big grin blooming on his lips.

“Mikleo!” Sorey shouted, not even caring about keeping his voice down. Mikleo saw him jump out of his chair, body leaning closer as he opened his arms— and then stop himself with an embarrassed laugh, a soft rose coloring his cheeks. “Ah, sorry! I’m just so happy you’re awake—“

“It’s fine.” Mikleo replied as Sorey sat back down. “I’m glad to be awake, as well.”

“You slept through the day, you know!” Sorey continued. “I came by a few times and you didn’t wake up once…”

“Wha—Sorey! It’s dangerous enough for you to be here right now, but during the day as well—!”

Sorey shook his head; his free hair bounced over his eyes, and the feathers of his earrings brushed against his skin softly. “It’s fine, no one saw me! I came to see Sergei anyway, so it’s not like I didn’t have a reason to be around here.”

Mikleo startled, hands gripping his comforter. Cold winter air blew through the window, but Mikleo paid it no mind for now. “How is Sergei?” He asked.

“He’s fine!” Sorey reassured him. “Well, I mean, he did break his arm, but he’s just grumpy at being ordered rest.”

“Ah, I’m glad.”

“Mm! Thanks, Mikleo!”

“But Sorey, I need to know what happened.” Mikleo urged on, leaning his torso closer towards Sorey. “Did we manage to bring back the blessing? Were we truly attacked? What—?”

“Okay, okay, calm down now!” Sorey interrupted, smiling at Mikleo with a placating smile. “Relax. You just woke up, after all.”

“But—!”

“I’m gonna tell you! Geez!” Sorey laughed, the sound making the room much warmer. “But let me first close the window. It looks like you’re freezing!”

As Sorey got up and walked closer to the headboard, Mikleo looked away. He could feel Sorey’s warmth as he leant over him to reach the window over the headboard, he could smell the clean scent of his soap.

When Sorey moved back, Mikleo realized he had been gripping his bedsheets the entire time Sorey had been close.

“Thanks.” Mikleo croaked, watching as Sorey turned on the bedside table with the box of matches that rested next to it.

“No problem!”

For a moment, it looked like Sorey was already moving back and away, leaning his body away from the bed as he left the matchbox back on the table. But then something caught his eye, and Sorey towered over Mikleo as he looked closely at something on Mikleo’s face.

Mikleo swallowed hard as he saw Sorey’s gaze move from one of his eyes to the other.

“Ah! I see it now! So it was true…”

“What do you mean?” Mikleo asked with a frown, following Sorey with his gaze as he sat down on this chair.

“There’s blue in your eyes.” Sorey explained, with so much warmth and pride in his voice that it made Mikleo’s heart soar. “Congrats, Mikleo! This is so amazing—!”

“I…” Not daring to believe it, Mikleo raised his hand to softly touch the skin under his left eye. He didn’t feel any differently from the day before, not at all. But, then again, he had never felt anything different when his eyes changed with his magic. He simply found things he had thought difficult easier, as if he had been doing them for a long time. Mikleo felt a thrill go down his arms; he couldn’t wait to see what he was capable of, now.

“I mean, a blue mage!” Sorey grinned, resting his hand on his chin and his elbow on the mattress. “Mikleo, that’s so amazing, not every mage gets to that level!”

“…I’m not a blue mage yet.” Mikleo reminded him, smiling softly. “I won’t be one until I take the exam.”

Though the colors in a mage’s eyes stated a mage’s rank, it wasn’t made official until they underwent a difficult exam, created for the mage to show their abilities. Passing it meant officially being recognized as their rank.

No matter how many colors Mikleo’s eyes had, he wouldn’t progress unless he took the exam.

And Mikleo…

“Well, don’t think about that now!” Sorey told him, letting his arm fall back to the mattress, his hand close to Mikleo’s thigh. “Now you gotta rest.”

As Sorey sat down once again on the chair, Mikleo sent him another desperate look. He wanted answers and he wanted them quickly, but he also knew he would get nothing out of Sorey by pressuring him. So he concentrated on forcing his fingers to stop clinging to his sheets, prying them away one by one.

“Okay,” Sorey said once he was ready, putting his arms back on the mattress, close to Mikleo. “Ask awa—“

“The wards?”

Sorey sighed. “You guys managed to put them back up.” Sorey said. “It took a long while, but you did it.”

“And the rest of the mages?”

At that, Sorey’s smile fell. It was such a striking contrast to his usual expression that Mikleo felt a sharp pain in his chest.

“I… Mikleo…”

Pain once again. Or maybe it was the same. Mikleo didn’t know. “Just tell me.”

“… Two blue mages and one green died while they tried to bring back your blessings.” Sorey finally said in a grave voice, looking at Mikleo with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Mikleo.”

“Who—“ Mikleo started to ask, and then quickly changed his mind, knowing Sorey wouldn’t be able to answer. “Is Lailah—?”

“Oh, no! She’s not—! She’s alright, Mikleo.” Sorey nodded, squaring his shoulders a bit. “I promise. She was brought here as well, but she was awake when they took her away. I recognized her hair, that’s how I knew it was Lailah.”

Mikleo let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Hiding his face in his palms, Mikleo tilted his head back until it rested against the headboard, feeling relief make his body warm. “Oh, thank the Empyreans…”

“I haven’t seen her again, but I’m sure she’s fine.”

Nodding, Mikleo let his hands fall back to his lap. “I hope so.”

“Also, we’ve been investigating further into what set off the alarm,” Sorey continued, shaking his head lightly. “Everything pointed to an attack, but… Aside from the Royal guards, there were no casualties. No one entered or left the castle that night. Which means…”

“That whoever did all of that was inside the castle already.” Mikleo finished for him. “Right?”

“…Yeah. Our main idea right now is that someone infiltrated the Royal Guard, pretending to be one of them, and used the confusion of the parade and the King’s arrival to blend in.”

Mikleo felt a spike of fear. An enemy inside the closest circle of the King… It was truly a miracle that nothing had happened to him.

“Did you find them…?” Mikleo asked.

But Sorey was already shaking his head. “No. All the Royal knights alive are true members of the Royal Guard. We have looked into it already. So don’t worry, okay?” Sorey smiled, tilting his head to the side. “You guys are safe!”

Mikleo frowned. “You don’t think they’ll try again?”

“…No. These people — or this person — are smart, Mikleo. They fooled us all, managing to stay in the Academy for a whole two days without anyone realizing. They know that trying again would be a suicide.”

“Mm.” Mikleo moved one of his hands to put it under his chin as he thought, turning around everything Sorey had just said. “What about the dead knights?”

Now it was Sorey’s turn to frown. “What about them?”

“…What if the reason why you haven’t found anyone… ” Mikleo started, moving his eyes back to Sorey. “You said there was something akin to an explosion. Have you guys looked into the dead knights?”

“I…” Sorey blinked, eyes open with surprise. “The King ordered to let the fallen knights rest in piece. We haven’t been able to look into them, but I’m not sure anyone has even asked to.”

“…You should do it, then.” Mikleo nodded. There was something nagging at his mind, something related to the fallen knights. They had to look into it. “Something doesn’t add up about it.”

Instead of asking further about it, Sorey went deep in thought, crossing his arms over his chest and pursing his lips. Mikleo let him do so, watching closely as Sorey’s thoughts reflected in the small changes of his expression.

Then Sorey nodded once again, returning to his position against the mattress and moving his eyes back to Mikleo’s. “You’re right. I’ll make sure to look into it.”

Mikleo nodded too. If the attacker had set an explosion, and something had gone wrong, it could be that they were among the dead knights, and that was why the knights had found no stranger in the castle. But, if they truly were as smart as Sorey thought them to be, how was it possible they had been caught in their own trap?

Or maybe… maybe whatever had killed the Guards hadn’t been the trap.

Maybe it had been a simple distraction.

“Mikleo…” Sorey started, voice low and soft. When Mikleo looked up, he was surprised to find that any trace of a smile had left Sorey’s expression completely, and that a shadow was crossing over his features, turning them sad and anxious. “You had me so worried, you know… Back in the Meadow, you… You collapsed. You wouldn’t wake up, you almost didn’t breathe at all! Then I heard one of the green mages hadn’t made it, and I—“

“You caught me, didn’t you?” Mikleo asked him, remembering the feel of warm hands against the skin of his arms. He didn’t look away from Sorey as he asked, and that was why he was able to see the guilty look that crossed Sorey’s face. “When I collapsed.”

“I’m sorry.” Sorey whispered, looking down at the mattress. “I… freaked out. I saw you falling and before I knew it I had moved to your side and you were in my—“ The color on Sorey’s cheeks were darker then, visible even in the moonlight. “Anyway! I’m sorry, Mikleo.”

“…You have nothing to apologize for—“

“Of course I do!” Sorey exclaimed, startling Mikleo. When he realized he had spoken too loudly Sorey bit down on his lower lip, looking away for a second before snapping his eyes back to Mikleo. “I was careless and I touched you, when I know very well you don’t want me to. But I was so worried…”

“—Sorey…”

“But that’s not it!” Sorey continued. “I have to apologize for the other night as well. I was so selfish—! I should have been happy for you, happy that you were happy, but instead I… I…”

As Sorey’s voice died down, Mikleo found himself wishing to go back in time. He wished they could go back to the night Sorey had given him the toolkit, the night when Sorey’s smile had been as bright as the stars that had accompanied them on the rooftop. It felt like that had been the last good night they had had for some time now, and Mikleo missed those easier times, when the boundaries were set and there were no complicated feelings swimming around Mikleo’s heart.

But seeing Sorey look like that, with no trace of a smile in the corners of his lips and guilt clouding the shine of his eyes… it was even more painful that anything Mikleo had felt back in the Meadow.

It was even worse when Mikleo realized it was his fault.

Mikleo wanted many things. He wanted to be a good mage. He wanted to be someone people could rely on, a strong defense against Glenwood’s enemies. He wanted to be the knights’ helping hand, aiding them in their victory.

But he also wanted to be for Sorey what Sirel had been for him back at the Meadow. Mikleo remembered the way Sorey had perked up the moment the other knight had touched him, how the small contact had given him the strength and reassurance he needed to know things weren’t as bad as he thought they were.

And Mikleo wanted to be that for him so badly, for a moment nothing else mattered.

So, feeling his whole body tremble with excitement and nervousness at the simple idea of doing it, Mikleo raised his naked hand and let the tips of his fingers brush against the skin of the upper part of Sorey’s wrist.

Time froze. Sorey certainly seemed to be frozen at least, his breath audibly catching in his chest as his eyes drank on the image of Mikleo’s pale fingers on his darker skin. It wasn’t an accidental touch — Mikleo had wanted to touch him, had made sure his fingers were in contact with Sorey, and Mikleo watched as that fact dawned on Sorey and his whole expression changed to one of amazement.

Mikleo felt his heart skip a beat, but he did not move his hand away from Sorey’s.

“I…” Sorey started with a low voice, as if afraid his words would push Mikleo away.

But Mikleo simply let his fingers move a bit downwards, over the back of Sorey’s hand. “It’s okay,” he whispered too, not meeting Sorey’s eyes but keeping his on his own fingers. Sorey’s skin was hot. Almost scorching. It felt really nice. “After today… It is okay.”

Sorey swallowed, still frozen in place, not daring to move. So it was Mikleo who did it, letting his fore and middle finger trace lazy, slow patterns on the back of Sorey’s hand as he felt his heart beat fast enough to choke him. Sorey was breathing unevenly, trying so hard not to move that he probably didn’t realize he was almost shaking under Mikleo’s touch. It was endearing, how still Sorey tried to be so as not push past any lines Mikleo might have set without him knowing.

It made Mikleo sad. He wished he had done this before.

But Sorey hadn’t been born to stay still. He almost never did, always a ball of energy next to Mikleo’s controlled excitement. So Mikleo wasn’t surprised when, slower than anything Sorey had ever done in his life, Sorey turned his hand upwards on the mattress so Mikleo’s fingers were now touching the rough skin of his palm, first the heel, then sliding down the gentle slope until his middle finger was tracing a short line over the natural dips of his skin.

Sorey’s skin trembled. Mikleo wondered if he was ticklish.

“Now we’re even.” Mikleo whispered, marveling at the roughness of a callus at the base of Sorey’s thumb. From his sword, maybe…?

Sorey snorted. His fingers were slightly curved inwards, as if trying to reach Mikleo’s, but they never got close enough to touch. “There’s no way we’re even! You would have to… hug me for it to be remotely close to even.”

Finally looking up towards Sorey Mikleo smirked, giving Sorey’s palm a gentle jab with his finger. “Don’t push it.”

“Hehe, I had to try!”

Mikleo let his fingers explore Sorey’s warm palm for some more moments, but after that, he finally made them slide away from Sorey’s skin, letting them fall first to the mattress and then moving them back to his own torso.

He heard Sorey sigh at the contact being over, but neither of them said anything else.

Closing his eyes, Mikleo moved to rest his back against the headboard once again. There was a gentle tingle in the tips of his fingers; he tried to make it leave by rubbing his thumb against them.

“You okay?” Sorey asked. When Mikleo opened his eyes he found Sorey with his arms closed once again, hands gripping tightly his own forearms.

“Yeah.” Mikleo replied. “Just tired.”

“Maybe I should let you rest.” Sorey said with a smile, moving his arms away from the bed. “You need to—“

“No.”

The word was out of Mikleo’s sleepy mouth before he could stop it. It seemed like he was having a hard time controlling what he said around Sorey lately.

Sorey’s eyebrows rose up. “What is it?”

Mikleo looked away. He was still rubbing the tips of his fingers. “If… If you don’t mind being stupidly risky for a little bit longer… You could stay.”

Had Mikleo been looking at Sorey, he would have seen the luminous, slightly pleased smile that he directed at him before saying. “Why, Mikleo! If you wanted me to keep you company you could simply ask, you know!”

“…I changed my mind.” Mikleo suddenly said, flopping back to lay down on the bed. “Leave.”

“Don’t be like that!” Sorey was laughing now as he rested his arms once again on the bed. Mikleo relaxed at that, feeling the dip on the mattress from Sorey’s weight. Then his eyes grew serious, but his smile remained sweet. “I’ll stay.” He said, eyes fixed on Mikleo’s. “For as long as you want me to.”

 _‘Then don’t ever leave,’_ Mikleo thought, but it was vague and earnest, the way every sleepy thought ends up being. As Mikleo closed his eyes, he was barely aware of Sorey moving up from his chair and moving the comforter so it covered Mikleo to his shoulders, keeping the cold night air away from his naked skin.

Mikleo fell asleep like that, with Sorey’s soft breathing lulling him to sleep, and the feel of his skin against his very present in the tips of his fingers.


	8. Chapter 7: Gododdin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the long wait! I know lately the updates have been slow but I'm super excited about what's coming in K&M so fear not! Even if it takes a while, I'll continue posting chapters ^^
> 
> Anyway, here's the update! Hope you guys enjoy it! <3<3

It took a long time for Sorey to finally pull himself away from Mikleo’s bed.

In fact, the sun was starting to peek over the far away tops of Rayfalk, dying the sky in hues of purple and rose, when Sorey decided that enough was enough and that he had crossed the line of creepiness a few hours ago.

But it had been really hard to move himself away from Mikleo that night… or more than usual. There had been something new in Mikleo’s voice when he had asked him to stay, some kind of vulnerability that Sorey had forgotten Mikleo could muster. Mikleo had casted his eyes away as he had muttered his request, but Sorey had still been able to see the sincerity and need in them.

Mikleo had wanted Sorey to stay, badly, no matter the consequences.

So Sorey had stayed, probably for longer than Mikleo had intended. And even though he hadn’t been able to keep himself from nodding off at times —he hadn’t slept one bit while Mikleo had been unconscious after all, worry and fear gnawing at him so badly that he was scared to close his eyes for even a second —, he had spent the whole night looking after him, only leaning close when Mikleo frowned in his sleep, or muttered incomprehensible words. But otherwise, Sorey had kept his distance, making sure they didn’t touch again.

He did want to, though; he wanted to touch Mikleo again like never before, to feel his skin on his once again, and bask in the warmth it provided. It had felt a bit like Mikleo’s own magic — protective, intense, familiar. Even now, hours later, Sorey could remember the exact same path Mikleo’s finger had traced in his palm, because his skin still tingled pleasantly.

But he wouldn’t ask Mikleo to touch him again, nor would he take the choice away from Mikleo. Because above all, it was the fact that Mikleo had chosen to touch him, freely, that had made Sorey’s heart beat so fast he thought he would pass out.

That, and the soft smile that had played on Mikleo’s lips as he drew undefined shapes in Sorey’s palm.

As if he had wanted this same thing for as long as Sorey had.

The thought made him blush, so he shook his head to get rid of the heat in his cheeks. He didn’t need for Mikleo to return his feelings; he just wanted Mikleo to be happy, and to be by his side.

But he had looked so beautiful that night… With his hair messed from sleep and his eyes tender with the new specs of blue magic that decorated them…

“Careful, duckling, or you’ll end up—!”

Sorey ran straight into the closed door before registering what the sudden voice at his right was saying. Pain shot up from his nose and forehead, so sharp and so unexpected that Sorey couldn’t help but groan out loud, quickly cupping his palms around his nose protectively.

Through teary eyes, Sorey sent an annoyed look at the offending door, and then turned his head to look at Boris.

He must have kept the glare, because Boris quickly raised his hands in front of him. “Hey, I tried to warn you! But you were pretty out of it.”

“Ow…” Sorey gingerly rubbed at his nose, taking one hand away to look at his fingers. At least there wasn’t any blood. “You could have stopped me!”

“And you could have looked where you were going!” Boris quickly shouted back, a smirk already in his mouth. “What were you thinking about, that you decided to make out with that poor door?”

“I—!”

Sorey had been about to retort when he caught up to what Boris had said. Immediately, his brain summoned the memory of Mikleo once again, looking at him from under his eyelashes as he trailed his finger down his palm. Sorey felt his heart speed up, blushing softly the moment Boris broke into a guffaw, not caring about the fact that it was far too early to be that loud.

“Okay, I’m pretty sure I don’t need to know what you were thinking about.” Boris finally said, wiping away the tiny tears of laughter that clung to his eyelashes. He then straightened his back, walking back towards the barracks without looking if Sorey was following. “So? How’s Mikleo?”

“He’s doing better,” Sorey replied, sprinting to walk by Boris’ side. They could already hear voices through the doors of the barracks they passed by, even if the morning bells hadn’t rang yet. Sorey could feel sleep tugging at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t feel sleepy. He only felt the lingering feeling of fear under his skin, and traces of adrenaline from Mikleo’s touch. “I think. He only woke for a little while, but he seemed…”

Boris read Sorey’s silence like an open book. A slow smile stretched one of the corners of his mouth upwards, and through the fine hair of his fringe, a cheerful eye winked at Sorey, cunningly. “You were with him all night.”

Heat rushed to pool under the skin of Sorey’s cheeks, and Sorey rushed to hide it. “…Maybe.”

“…Something happened, didn’t it?” Boris prodded, leaning towards Sorey as they walked. “You look like you would fly away if you weren’t wearing your armor.”

“…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, duckling, you’re so fucking bad at lying—“

“You’re going to laugh at me!” Sorey narrowed his eyes at Boris, at his very present smirk. “So I won’t tell you a thing.”

“I would never laugh at you!” Boris shouted back, looking sincerely offended.

“…You just did, Boris! Like, two seconds ago.”

Boris made a gesture with his hand, like he was swatting a fly away. “That’s in the past! Come on.” He leaned closer then, and elbowed Sorey not-so-softly on his side. “Let daddy know it all.”

Sorey hesitated. Not because he didn’t trust Boris to keep the secret, but because he didn’t trust _himself._ All the feelings and sensations from the two days prior —from the hurt at the fight to the joy at the faint touch — were still too present at the forefront of Sorey’s mind to be clear. Sorey could have tried to explain to Boris everything he was feeling for hours and he would only have come up with a handful of words and a lot of wistful sighs.

But he still tried. Because he wanted — _needed_ — to share with someone what he was feeling.

It was too bright of a feeling to keep it hidden in his chest.

“…He touched my hand.” Sorey finally said, feeling like he wasn’t using enough words, but that they conveyed his feelings pretty well.

Boris blinked at him, slowly, without a sound.

And then he broke out in a laugh.

“See!?” Sorey shouted, lifting his hands in the air. He stomped down the hallway, Boris’ rambunctious laugh following him closely. “Honestly…”

“Aw, come on, can you really blame me?” Boris exclaimed after a moment, voice wheezy. “You… you just said it with such a straight face, I—“

He laughed again, warm and happy, and Sorey shook his head. He knew Boris wasn’t laughing to be mean — Sorey didn’t think Boris even knew how to be mean purposely —… But it still stung. HIs heart clenched at the cadence of Boris’ laughter, at the tingle in his hand, right where Mikleo had touched him. Without thinking, Sorey’s hand moved to his chest, to grip at the warm necklace that hung against his skin. He felt it burn a bit more intensely in his palm, as if it was trying to reassure him, somehow.

Sorey must have made something weird, for Boris stopped laughing as suddenly as he had started, looking at Sorey with unusually grave eyes. “Hey…”

“This is important to me, Boris.” Sorey said, feeling his heart beat faster, the necklace in his palm pulsing in tandem. “ _He_ is important to me.”

Boris walked closer, nodding with his head once he was standing right in front of Sorey. “I know, duck.”

“I just…” Sorey squared his shoulders, inhaling sharply. Still, his lower lip trembled slightly as he poured out his heart once again. “Mages don’t touch others. Ever. But Mikleo… He decided he wanted to touch me tonight. It might not have been much, but—“

“No, Sorey.” Boris moved his hand closer, sneaking it behind Sorey’s neck and pulling him close until Sorey was leaning his forehead against his shoulder. Sorey didn’t lift his arms to return the embrace, and Boris didn’t move his free arm either, but still it felt warmer than a full hug, safer. Sorey closed his eyes with a sigh, suddenly very, very tired. “I’m sorry. I acted like a jerk when I know how important he’s to you.”

Boris’ palm was heavy against the back of Sorey’s neck, palm flush against his skin. The inner knuckle of his thumb was rubbing against his hairline there. “I just…” Sorey started again. His heart was loud in his ears, deafening, and maybe that was exactly why Sorey felt brave enough to admit: “I love him, Boris.”

And that… _that_ was the right thing to say, the right words to convey his feelings. Three little words that defined all the complicated feelings inside of Sorey’s heart, and that threatened to choke him.

Three little words that felt like arrows through his heart.

Three little words that he probably would never get to say to Mikleo.

“…Oh, baby duck.” Boris muttered with a sigh of his own, tightening his grip on Sorey’s neck. “Why do you make everything so hard for yourself?”

A soft laugh escaped from Sorey’s mouth, liberating him from more of the weight on his shoulders. “That’s not true!”

“It is, though.” A smile coated Boris’ words with a light tease, right before his hand slipped away from Sorey’s neck, letting him straighten his back again. “But I’m glad you got something good out of tonight. I didn’t like the way you’ve been looking this past few days.”

Sorey rubbed the back of his head, a bit sheepish. “You noticed?”

Boris rolled his eyes. “We all did, kid. You smile 24/7, so it’s easy to realize when you… don’t.”

They reassumed their way back to the barrack then, walking side by side as if nothing had happen. It was the good thing about them, though. No matter what, they always slipped back to their easy banter as soon as possible.

“So—“ Crossing his arms behind his head as they walked, and sneaking a glance towards Sorey by his side, Boris asked: “Did you guys did anything else aside from romantic handholding? Because if not, what the hell have you been doing in there for so long!?”

“Okay, first of all, we didn’t hold hands!”

“That’s even worse!”

“And second—“ Sorey continued as if he hadn’t heard Boris’ comment. “We talked, for a bit. Before he went back to sleep.”

“Oh?”

“…Mikleo wanted to know about the other mages, and about the wards. Then we talked about the fallen knights, and—“

“Wait, the fallen knights?” Boris lowered his arms to look at Sorey; his eyebrows were high in his face, almost hidden under the hair that fell over his front. “That’s hardly a random topic.”

Sorey nodded once again. He knew to lower his voice before continuing talking, looking to make sure all the doors they passed by were firmly close. “When I told him about what happened, he asked me if we had found out who set off the alarms, or the culprit for the deaths of the Royal guards. And when I told him that we found nothing he asked me if we had looked into the dead bodies.”

A shadow crossed over Boris’ features, turning his expression pensive. “Huh…”

“He thinks we could find something, some kind of clue, if we take a look at the bodies.” Sorey kept on, remembering how Mikleo’s thinking had been apparent in the new shine of his eyes. “But they have been sent away to prepare the funerals, so—“

“And what do _you_ think?” Boris asked, looking at Sorey as he crossed his arms.

Sorey didn’t think too much about his answer. “I agree with Mikleo.” He said, and it was true. He had followed Mikleo’s silent thinking, probably reaching the same conclusion as he had. “I think something’s weird. We should have found some kind of clue, but there was nothing…”

“And the answer could be in one of the bodies.” Boris nodded, smiling softly. “Good thinking, Mikleo.”

“Hey, I reached the same end too!”

“Only because your boy pointed you at it. I think he wins this time, duckling.”

Sorey huffed, but didn’t push through with it. He actually liked Boris’ smile as he spoke of Mikleo. It made him feel like Mikleo was closer, like he was a tangible part of Sorey’s small family.

It made him really, really happy.

“So… what do you wanna do?”

“I want to look into it.” Sorey nodded. They had finally reached the door of their barrack, so they stood by it as they talked in hushed tones. “I don’t know if it’s possible, or if I’ll get in trouble because of it, but I think…”

_‘I think the answer to whatever attacked the Academy the other day lays in those bodies,’_ Sorey thought to himself, hand flying to his sword. _‘And I have to discover what it is if I want to keep Mikleo safe.’_

“Very well,” Boris nodded too, a smile illuminating his features. Still, tiredness pulled at the corners of his eyes, and for the first time since running into him Sorey wondered what his friend was doing awake that early. “You stay here and rest. I’ll go investigate.”

“Wait, what!?” Sorey exclaimed, immediately getting shushed by Boris. “I’m going with you! It was Mikleo’s idea, and mine…”

Boris scratched the back of his head with a sigh, posture relaxed. “You just admitted to not having slept all night, Sorey…”

“Still! I have to go.”

Boris regarded him for a long moment, pensive. Sorey met his gaze steadily, not willing to back down. After all, if they did this, they would be going against royal orders. The King had ordered rest for the fallen, not to have overcurious knights poking around their remains just because of a hunch. Sorey couldn’t let Boris shoulder all the blame, if he were caught.

Luckily, Boris knew perfectly well how stubborn Sorey could get when something got stuck in his head. He sighed, finally lowering his arm to his side and shrugging. His hair fell softly over one side of his face, but it didn’t manage to hide his smirk. “Fine, fine,” Boris said, shaking his head. “Get the horses ready. I have to do something first, but we’ll leave soon.”

Sorey straightened his back; a soldier receiving orders from his elder. “Yes!”

As he passed by Sorey, turning his back to the door of their barrack, Boris flicked Sorey’s temple, hard enough to make Sorey whine. “You’re gonna be the end of me, duckling, I just know it.”

Sorey smiled at him, rubbing the spot where Boris had hit him. “As if you weren’t enjoying this.”

The way Boris’ smirk grew was answer enough.

 

* * *

 

The bodies had been taken to Gododdin.

It was a strange choice, considering Gododdin was such a small village with so little resources, but after some thinking Sorey believed he understood why. If the bodies had been taken to Pendrago, word of the attack in the Academy would have spread like a juicy rumor. Pendrago was such a big city that no matter how secretively the moving of the bodies could have been, someone would have ended up knowing what was going on. And with the situation up north being so complicated, an attack in the safest place of all the kingdom would only have made tensions rise higher than they already were.

The humble people of Gododdin would be quite the opposite, however. They would never pry into royal affairs, because they wouldn’t want to disturb their own peaceful lifestyle. The Royal Guard would only need a pair of trustworthy people, and the secret of the attack would remain carefully secluded in that small village, away from the rest of the kingdom.

But it also meant Boris and Sorey would have a long trip ahead of them.

At a leisurely pace, it would take them a whole day to arrive to Gododdin. Sorey knew that the moment Boris told him about the location, pushing the strap of a bag more securely up his shoulder as he guided his own horse out of the stables, Sorey close behind with his own animal. But if they hurried, and didn’t make any random stops, Boris was sure they could make it there and back before midnight that same day, as long as they didn’t waste time, and departed before the morning bells. Sorey winced at that, but nodded just the same; he would miss his meeting time with Mikleo, but he knew his friend would understand.

So they set to Gododdin as the sun rose behind them, fast enough that they kept themselves in the remaining shadows of the night at least until they were out of the borders of Pendrago, without anyone stopping them.

They didn’t speak at all on their journey, too concentrated on keeping a steady gallop rhythm to pronounce any words. They mainly communicated with well practiced signals, indicating the path they had to take next. The cold wind hit them in their cheeks as they rode, making Sorey’s earrings flap against his shoulder and neck, and Boris’ hair bounce freely over his bandana.

Sorey’s necklace bumped against his chest with each gallop, keeping the worst of the winter cold away from his body.

In that fashion, they reached the outskirts of Gododdin past midday. Boris made them slow down with a wave of his hand before Sorey could even see the city walls, but he didn’t question it. They dismounted, letting their horses catch a well deserved breath and stretch their necks.

Sorey palmed the side of his animal, feeling the sweat on its white fur pool under his palm.

“Sorry for the race, buddy.” He whispered to it, moving his hand to scratch at the spot between its eyes. Sorey’s breath rose like smoke from his mouth in the cold, winter air. “You can rest for now, okay?”

“Alright!” Boris said behind him. Sorey couldn’t see him, but by the sounds he was making, he was rummaging through his bag in search of something. “Let the show begin.”

Sorey frowned at that. Show? What show? They hadn’t settled on a plan before leaving, Boris insisting on starting their journey before the sun was completely out. So Sorey turned around with a frown over his eyes, ready to ask—

But he didn’t find Boris there. Instead, it was Sergei.

“W—What!?” Sorey spluttered, his eyes about to bulge out of his skull in surprise. “What the—!?”

“Chill out, little bro.” Boris’ unmistakable voice said from Sergei’s body, making Sorey blink and his mouth fall. “It’s still me. Though this must be working, if it managed to fool even you. I’m glad.”

Sorey snapped his jaws closed, inspecting Boris closely. Because despite appearances, it truly was Boris in front of him. He had styled his slightly longer hair the same way as his twin’s, discarding his orange headband for Sergei’s golden band around his forehead. There was no golden robe around his shoulders but it wasn’t needed; Boris was copying his brother’s posture perfectly, the tense line of his shoulders, the serious pull of his mouth. He looked older like this, just like Sergei always did, and Sorey found himself looking twice to make sure this was truly Boris under all the pretense.

But because he looked at him twice, thoroughly, Sorey started to see the differences. The faint shadow over Boris’ jaw from not shaving that day certainly helped, but it was nowhere near Sergei’s carefully trimmed goatee. The mischievous glint on Boris’ pale green eyes as he looked back at Sorey was never seen on Sergei’s own eyes, and there was nothing Boris could do to hide the small scar that ran under his eye… But the disguise was perfect, if Boris didn’t drop the charade.

It was so good, in fact, that it almost managed to distract Sorey from the obvious.

Almost.

“Did you steal Sergei’s captain band!?” Sorey exclaimed, not believing what he was seeing. “Boris!”

“I wouldn’t say steal!” Boris exclaimed back, erasing the image of Sergei with every word he said. “It was more like… borrowing it without permission?”

Sorey hung his head down, burrowing his face in his hands. “We’re in so much trouble…”

“We already are without worrying about the band, duckling.” With a wave of his hand, Boris went back to his bag and hid the headband deep inside, just to drop the bag itself behind one of the bushes nearby. “Remind me to come back for this later, okay?”

Sorey shook his head. “Boris…”

“Look, there was no way they would give us info just because.” Boris went on, turning to dedicate Sorey a serious look. “Two knights without an order sneaking their noses in Royal Guard affairs? I don’t care how trusting these people are, no one is going to risk angering the king for us.”

Boris’ words made Sorey’s clogs start to turn. He crossed his arms as he thought about it, quickly seeing that Boris was right. But to steal Sergei’s band…

“What if they blame Sergei for this?” Sorey asked. He didn’t want to put Sergei in danger for a hunch.

But Boris laughed, reaching out to mess Sorey’s hair. “Worry not, lil bro. I won’t let Sergei be in trouble.”

And just like that, Sorey relaxed. Some guilt still lingered in his heart, but he trusted Boris. He never backed down on a promise, after all. “Alright. What’s the plan, then?”

“The plan is: we go into the village and we pray.” Boris replied. Before Sorey could retort, Boris put his foot on his horse’s stirrup and swung himself up onto the animal, holding the reins tight to restrain it. “Don’t look at me like that, Sorey. Not even I know what we’ll find in there.”

Sorey sighed, but followed Boris’ example. With an apologetic pat to his horse’s neck he pushed himself up as well, marching after Boris towards the village of Gododdin with a sense of foreboding brewing in his chest.

 

* * *

 

Only a handful of people lingered in the streets of Gododdin. It was a bit past lunch time, after all —Sorey’s stomach was reminding him of that fact from time to time —, so not many people went to see who the newcomers were.

But that was the best for Boris and Sorey. The lesser attention they attracted, the better.

An elderly man approached them with decided steps the moment they reached the central square, looking at them with narrowed eyes. Two other men, much more younger and muscular, followed him close behind, their expressions guarded. But then Sorey saw the man take notice of their _kamui,_ and of Boris’ band, and his expression changed to being almost obliging in the blink of an eye.

“My knights—!” The man rushed to greet them, bowing his head while Boris and Sorey dismounted. The two young men behind the first one copied the gesture of the elder man, but Sorey saw them not take their eyes from them, not really. “My knights, what brings you to this humble village…?”

“We are sorry to arrive like this, Chief.” Boris said, and Sorey had to do a double take because _he sounded exactly like Sergei._ “But we are here in official business.” Boris, still deep in his portrayal of Sergei, looked over the man’s head to the other two briefly, before returning his eyes to the one he had called ‘chief’, speaking in a more hushed tone. “I am not sure if—“

“I get the feeling I know what you are talking about, Captain.”

Other people had stopped to watch too, but no one looked worried about the arrival of two knights. The chief turned his head back then, addressing one of the men behind him. “Matt,” he called, and the biggest of the two stepped forward. “Please, give water to the knights’ horses while I speak to them. Everything’s fine.”

The man named Matt nodded, and gently took the reins from both Boris’ and Sorey’s hands with a small bow of his head. Sorey watched him go, and then went to stay closer to Boris’ side, waiting a little ways behind his friend. That was the behavior someone would expect of a knight while in the presence of his captain.

Meanwhile, Boris was talking in hushed tones with the chief, introducing himself as ‘Captain Strelka’ in the process, and Sorey only got words like ‘problem’ and ‘secrecy’ and ‘if you please’, before the chief was nodding and urging them along. They followed, Sorey biting down questions that were already brewing in his tongue.

“Forgive the less than warm welcome, my knights.” The chief whispered, walking ahead of them. He was directing them out of the handful of houses that formed the village, and towards the wall of a cliff that overlooked the whole place. “But after the Royal Guard’s visit a couple of days ago, we’ve tried to be safer. We are guarding no worthless load, as you know.”

“We are thankful for your efforts, Chief.” Boris nodded; he kept his hand on his sword while he walked, pushing his chin up. “We know our brothers are safe here with the people of Gododdin watching over them.”

“I must admit, though, that it came as a surprise.” The chief said, looking at Boris with a proud and grateful expression. “The fact that the king chose our village for such great honor as the temporal rest of his knights.”

“This village has done nothing but good for our kingdom,” Boris said with a small smile, making the chief’s chest swell with pride. “The king knows that, rest assured.”

Alarm bells started to blast in Sorey’s head, because not only was Boris pretending to be a captain, but he was putting words in the King’s mouth that he had never said. That could end up being worse than anything they had done until that moment, or were about to do.

But the chief only nodded and thanked Boris for his kind words. “Please, follow me. We aren’t far.”

The chief guided them inside a cavern in the cliff’s wall, one that seemed to extend down with tunnels and even bigger caverns. Sorey fought hard to rein in his excitement, looking at the engravings in the walls, and the drawings craved into the stone in the tunnels’ walls. If only he had a light to read them closely…

“Here we are.” The chief suddenly said, and light filled a new, smaller cavern with a warm, orange hue.

Three bodies covered by white sheets took the whole cavern, disposed one next to the other, their feet towards the cavern’s entrance. A foul odor hung in the air despite the low temperature, one that made the chief pull out a handkerchief and press it against his mouth and nose with a wince. Sorey and Boris stood still, not doing anything against the smell. They were too used to it for it to bother them.

Nothing else lingered by the bodies. No flowers, no pieces of armor, no chests full of money for the loving families. Only three bodies that could very well have belonged to commoners.

Sorey lowered his head and muttered a quick prayer. He might not have known them —he didn’t know anyone that belonged to the Royal Guard —, but they were still knights. They were still brothers.

“I am sorry to ask, Chief, but we would like a moment of privacy,” Boris said, tearing his eyes away from the bodies. “We must keep this as secret as possible.”

Surprisingly, the chief pursed his lips, suddenly unsure. “We were ordered that no one disturbed the knights’ rest…”

“I know, and I apologize for making you break your promise.” Boris continued, using his best Sergei impression. “But I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t necessary.”

Sorey observed as the chief hesitated. But the light of the torches on the walls flickered, and Sergei’s golden band caught the light, shining softly. The sight of it made the chief’s shoulders drop and he sighed, finally nodding his consent. “Very well. I’ll be waiting by the entrance. Take all the time you need.”

The chief bowed and left without another word. Sorey watched him leave, disappearing into the shadows the moment the light of the torches didn’t reach him anymore. He turned towards Boris, letting out a sigh of relief.

“That was—“ He started, but Boris silenced him with a look and a finger to his own lips. Then he pointed at his ear and Sorey closed his mouth, listening.

He couldn’t hear the chief’s footsteps, despite the fact that they should have been echoing against the stone walls.

Sorey nodded at Boris and walked closer, following Boris towards the bodies. They stood by the first of them, and when Boris closed his eyes and lowered his head Sorey copied him, crossing his arm over his chest, fist over his heart.

“May your souls protect us from the beyond, our brothers,” Boris said, not lowering his voice a note. “Please, watch us in our mission to protect our kingdom.”

When Boris’ words died out silence fell between them, heavy, the kind of silence that occurred when you were waiting for something to happen. And, sure enough, soon footsteps resounded around the cavern, growing fainter and fainter as the chief walked away.

They both waited an extra minute before they deemed it safe to speak freely, Boris sighing and stretching his arms over his head.

“Ugh, I don’t know how Serg manages to keep that stuck up posture all day long…”

“How did you know he was listening in?” Sorey asked, looking from the entrance of the cavern to Boris’ face. It was the most relaxed he had seen him since arriving to the village.

“He’s a good man, that chief.” Boris replied, walking around one of the bodies to squat by its side. He continued speaking without looking at Sorey, more than half of his attention on the body. “I figured he’d try everything he could to make sure he wasn’t endangering his people by letting two strangers in. Which, by the way, goes against the king’s wishes.”

“But he doesn’t know that.”

Boris nodded. “Indeed.”

“…Now I feel bad…”

“Come here and let’s finish soon, then,” Boris told him, looking at him from the corner of his eye. “The least we stay here, the better. Check that body, I’ll check this one. We’ll check the last one together.”

Sorey moved towards were Boris pointed, to the body in the middle. He mumbled another quick prayer before kneeling by its side, careful of not stepping over the pristine white of the sheets at each of his sides. With gentle fingers, he moved the sheet away from the body’s face to reveal a woman, still clad in her Royal Guard attire. Her eyes were closed, but thick trails of dried blood ran down from her nostrils to her cheeks, contrasting with the paleness of her skin. Matching trails went down from the corners of her mouth to her neck, and even —Sorey moved her hair aside with delicacy to see— from her ears. Sorey sucked in a breath, not expecting the bodies to look like this.

“This one’s the same,” Boris called from his place, looking at Sorey from over the body he was inspecting. His was a man’s, bloodshot eyes open with its gaze lost in the ceiling of the cavern. Sorey didn’t know if it had been Boris who had opened his eyes, or if they had been open in the first place, and he didn’t want to ask.

“What could cause this?” Sorey asked, his hand trembling there where he clutched the sheet. “I’ve never seen…”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Boris confessed. His hand rose up, as if to move his hair back, but it flopped back to his side when he realized he had it pushed back like Sergei’s still. “I’ve only seen stuff like this when…”

“When—?”

“…Let’s not draw up conclusions just yet.” He said in the end, pointing at Sorey’s corpse with his chin. “Look under the armor.”

Sorey moved his hands to pray away the royal guard’s _kamui,_ trying to be as respectful as he could. The garment came away easily, but the moment the lapels moved a cloud of odor reached Sorey’s nostrils, making him have to swallow a cough. His eyes watered at the foul smell and Sorey gagged, turning his head away.

“You okay, duck?” Boris wondered, sounding concerned. His corpse had already been exposed, and although there was a frown in his expression, he didn’t seem to be too bothered by the smell.

Sorey squared his shoulders, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Don’t worry.”

Returning his attention to the body, Sorey felt his breath catch for the second time in so little time. The knight’s torso was covered in bruises, darker than any bruise Sorey had ever seen before, the skin tight over the muscles and bones. Everything was sunken, the spaces in between her ribs, in between her collarbones… Except the area around her navel, which was swollen.

Sorey’s hands trembled. He had seen worse things before, but for some reason, the image of the woman knight in that condition shook him more than it should.

“Sorey,” Boris called him, and the sound of his name grounded Sorey somewhat. “Talk to me. Does she have any wounds, any injuries aside from the bruising and the swelling?”

Breathing in deep despite the smell, Sorey concentrated on the task at hand. “…No.” He finally said after his inspection. “Not on her legs and arms, not even on her back…”

That made no sense for Sorey. If there had been an explosion, or something similar, and that had been the cause of death… Shouldn’t the bodies have any signals of it? Some cuts or injuries from shrapnel hitting their skin? But there was nothing aside from the bruises and the dried blood. It almost looked like…

“They bled out…” Sorey whispered, talking to himself.

But Boris heard him. He had covered his corpse once again and was walking past Sorey to reach the third corpse, only giving Sorey’s a brief look before moving his eyes away. “Yeah, looks like it. But I still want to inspect the last body, before saying anything.”

Sorey nodded. Despite knowing Boris was waiting for him to look over the last corpse, Sorey took his time to dress the body of the woman knight again with care, as if afraid of hurting her even more. He wished he had the time to clean the blood off her face, but he knew that was pushing it. Instead, the moment the body was covered again with the sheet, he turned to face Boris and the last corpse, not even raising from the ground.

Both knights nodded, and Boris lifted the sheet with a single movement.

This time, both of them retched, turning their faces away and burying their noses in the sleeves of their _kamui_. The smell this one gave off was even worse than the other two; it smelt putrid, rotten, and it burned at Sorey’s nostrils hard enough to make him rub his nose with his sleeve. Even Boris, who had more experience than Sorey simply because he was older, was having a hard time controlling the nausea; he looked green to the face, even as he forced his eyes to stay on the corpse… That didn’t look much better than it smelt.

While the other two had been perfectly dressed and… whole, something had happened to this one. It was as if his _kamui_ had melted onto the skin, transforming his whole torso into one unidentifiable mass of fabric, armor and skin tissue. It wasn’t only his torso, but his legs and arms as well, going up to his neck. Only his face had survived the damage, so Sorey could see that he didn’t have the trails of blood like the other two. His face was serene, clean, even if too pale and with the early signs of decomposition.

Before Sorey could see anything else, however, Boris covered the body once again. It didn’t help with the smell anymore, but Sorey would have been lying if he had said having the body covered didn’t help at least a bit.

“Aren’t we going to inspect it?” Sorey asked, looking surprised as Boris got up onto his feet.

“It won’t matter.” Boris shook his head, wiping his palms on his pants. “It’s far too decomposed to find any reliable cause of death.”

“…It was chemical, wasn’t it?” Sorey pushed himself up as well, walking around the corpse to join Boris and speak to him lowly. “What made the _kamui_ melt, and what makes the body smell like that… It’s something chemical.”

Boris smiled at him, a hint of pride in his eyes. “Nice, duckling. Yeah, I think so too. Which means…”

“That someone was trying to hide whatever was under his _kamui_ … but why? Why would anyone do that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Boris sighed, looking at the corpses with something akin to sadness. “Because whatever killed those two is different from whatever killed the last one. And someone was trying to hide it.”

Sorey looked at Boris seriously, hands into fists at his sides. “You know what killed the first two, don’t you?”

“I think I do. But I don’t want to—“

Boris’ words were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming closer. Immediately, Boris straightened his back and resumed the role of his brother, walking out of the cavern with sure steps and without another word. Sorey dedicated one last look at the corpses and followed him into the tunnel, walking until they met the chief halfway through.

“Please forgive us, Chief,” Boris quickly said, bowing slightly. “We lost track of time in there.”

“There is no need to apologize, Captain Strelka,” the chief replied with a smile. “I was just on my way to see if there was anything you needed. I understand that it mustn’t be an easy task, to deal with a comrade’s corpse…”

“Indeed, it is not.” Boris agreed. “But we are done now. Thank you for your comprehension, and help.”

“The village of Gododdin lives to serve the king and his knights,” the chief said with a nod of his head. “Please, do not hesitate to tell us if there is anything you need.”

“We appreciate it, Chief. But we must leave now. We have to give our report back at the Tower—“

“Of course, of course. Please, follow me.”

After a few turns, the chief accompanied Boris and Sorey back to the entrance of the caverns and outside, where Sorey gratefully took a deep gulp of clean, fresh air. The sun was starting to set in the distance, but they would still have a handful of hours of daylight ahead for their journey back.

From down the hill, Sorey caught sight of Matt, the man who had taken their horses, bringing them back to the very entrance to the caverns.

It looked like the obliging people of Gododdin couldn’t wait to have their unperturbed life back.

“Thank you once again, Chief.” Boris said, clasping the man’s hand with his own and shaking it with force. “You made our job very easy here.”

“As I said, Captain Strelka,” the chief replied with a tense smile. “Anytime.”

But the words felt like an obligation this time, like the chief was forcing himself to speak them out, and by the time Sorey and Boris left the town Sorey felt as if the eyes of all the townspeople were glued to his back.

 

* * *

 

They stopped a half an hour ride away from the village, spreading out the food supplies the chief had given them for their ride back. It wasn’t much — a few pieces of bread, some cheese, a leather bag full of cold water — but they were still grateful. They might have practically pushed them out of their village, but they still wanted to be helpful.

Sorey’s stomach growled at the sight of all that food —Sorey hadn’t slept nor eaten anything in so long…—, but he couldn’t force himself to eat anything. Instead, he sat under the sun on the warm grass, taking small sips from the leather pouch to keep the nausea at bay as he thought.

Boris, who was munching on a piece of cheese, looked at him expectantly. “Well?” He prompted. “What’s on your mind?”

“…Why would an attacker bother covering their way of killing someone?” Sorey asked back, playing with the strap of the pouch idly. He didn’t look up, but he could feel Boris’ eyes on him anyway. “They shouldn’t care about that, only about doing the most damage possible. Then, why did they go through all the trouble of using chemicals?”

“Why, indeed,” Boris whispered, shaking his head.

At that, Sorey looked up. “You have ideas.” It wasn’t a question.

“I do. That doesn’t mean you want to hear them.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because they imply things you won’t want to believe, duckling,” Boris said, leaning back so his shoulders were pressed against the bark of the tree behind him. “Hell, I don’t want to believe it, myself.”

“Tell me,” Sorey asked him, fixing Boris with a serious look. “I want to know. I _need_ to know, if I—“

“I’m sure you could reach the same conclusions I did, duck.” Boris went on. “Think.”

Sorey crossed his arms over his chest, following Boris’ command. Why would anyone cover the means of one death, but not the other two? Could it be that they had run out of time before hiding the deaths of the other two…? No. It couldn’t take too long to spray someone with a chemical. Then, could the answer be the means of the killing itself? Why use different ones?

Unless—

“The person who killed the last one wasn’t the same who killed the other two.” Sorey declared, looking up to find Boris already nodding his agreement. “They were killed by different people.”

“Exactly,” Boris agreed. “And whoever killed that poor guy tried to blame it on whoever killed the other two. They probably stabbed him, or shot him, and used the chemicals to melt the skin so no signs of it remained. Remember that the other two had no injuries aside of the bruising. A burn is easier to explain if there has been an explosion of some sort rather than a stab.”

“Still, someone should have thought weird that the other two had no injuries,” Sorey said, still deep in thought, even as he looked at Boris. “And all that blood… You said you knew how those two had died?”

“…I do.” Boris said. “But I don’t see how it was possible…”

“Tell me.”

“You know what happens when a human is exposed to lots of magic?” Boris asked instead, playing with the blades of grass by his side.

Sorey frowned. “You mean Hellfire?”

“Yes and no. Hellfire happens because mages use their magic to heal us, and human bodies aren’t used to that, so they react against the magic. But mages use quantities of magic that assure that we won’t die. It’s why the lower ranks of mages can’t heal wounds beyond one point. They can’t control the quantity of magic they infuse into a body, and if they push too much into it, the body… Collapses.”

“…You mean to tell me,” Sorey started, feeling his heart speed up at the idea forming in his head. “That the bleeding out of those knights was caused by high exposure to magic? That a _mage_ killed them?”

“I’m only saying what I know, Sorey,” Boris said, and the tone of his voice told Sorey that his friend didn’t like this any more than Sorey did. “I’ve seen bodies not being able to handle magic before, and that’s what they looked like in the end. Like their organs had collapsed and their blood had tried to escape from the hell that had been unleashed inside the bodies.”

Sorey’s heart bumped twice out of its rhythm. “But the only mage around the Royal Guard in that moment…”

“Was the Seraph.” Boris finished with a wince. “Yeah.”

“But—!”

“The only explanation is that the attackers _were_ the knights of the Royal Guard. It was our first guess, after all. Someone infiltrated the Guard, waited for the perfect moment, and tried to strike. They probably didn’t expect the Seraph to step in, though.”

“It would also explain why the King was so intent on sending the bodies away,” Sorey said, arms crossed over his chest. “Betrayed by his own guard… But we still don’t know what killed the third knight.”

“Mmm…”

Sorey found Boris deep in thought when he looked at him, gaze lost in the grass between his boots. “Boris? What is it?”

The question made Boris snap his head up, quickly smiling at Sorey apologetically. “It’s nothing, duckling. I’m just thinking.”

Sorey frowned. “Is there something troubling you?” He asked.

But Boris shook his head. “Nothing worth bothering you. Just… crazy ideas.”

“Boris…”

“Come on, duck, let’s gather everything up and go back home. We have a long ride to go.”

Sorey watched Boris as he got up and started packing everything. His hair was back to softly falling over his face, Sergei’s golden band securely tucked inside his bag. But the tension and downwards pull of his features still lingered, as if he just couldn’t shake them from his own persona.

Watching his brother frown while he thought he wasn’t seen, Sorey hoped those changes would be gone by the time they reached home.

 

* * *

 

It took them longer than expected, but they reached Pendrago well into the night.

Sorey couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret in his chest. He had kept Boris away all day from the Tower, made him get in trouble by stealing Sergei’s band, and missed his reunion time with Mikleo solely for an information that they couldn't use, or do anything about. Because, sure, they knew now that the circumstances of the knights’ deaths were strange, and that a mage had been the responsible of at least two of them but, what could they do with that info? Asking to interrogate the Seraph would only push them into more problems, and the King… They would know they had disobeyed royal orders, no matter how well intentioned Boris and Sorey had been.

It wasn’t a lost day because they had discovered new clues… But they had no use for them.

And that was even worse.

Sorey lifted his head to apologize to Boris when he saw it. In the distance, bright against the night sky, an orange light illuminated the top of the hill where the Academy laid, rising up to touch the stars and emanating a thick, white smoke that threatened to swallow the full moon whole. Sorey gasped, his heart speeding up at the sight.

It was fire.

The Academy was on fire.

Sinking his heels on his horse’s sides, Sorey urged it on as fast as it could go, Boris shouting at him to wait. But Sorey couldn’t wait; the Academy was under attack again, the bells silent but the fire that rose and rose into the sky as good an indicator as anything. As his horse brought him closer to home, Sorey started to smell the smoke, the wood burning — and, faint but recognizable under it all, the penetrating smell of human flesh burning.

Sorey spurred his horse on with shouts, willing it to go faster as he felt fear crawling under his skin like shards of ice. He was vaguely aware of Boris following close behind, but he couldn’t react to it. He was too busy steering his horse through the paved streets of Pendrago, the shortest way to reach the Academy.

But before he could arrive to the front gate, Sorey found someone waiting for them down the hill, an oil lamp in his hand illuminating his serious features. Beyond, the white walls of the Academy were bathed in warm, orange light, and smoke still rose beyond the walls… but the building seemed to be intact.

The alarm bells were still eery silent.

“Stop, stop!” The figure waved his arm around, catching Sorey’s attention once again by the movement of his lamp. Sorey immediately pulled the rains of his horse, restraining him until the animal trotted to a stop before Sergei, who waited for them at the skirts of the hill with the lamp in his hand and the other securely held in a cloth sling.

“Sergei!” Sorey shouted, looking down at him from the top of his horse. “Sergei, the Academy—!”

“Calm down, Sorey,” Sergei said back, voice controlled. He didn’t turn to look at what Sorey was pointing, didn’t seem faced by it either. He simply gave Sorey his lamp and grabbed the reins of his horse with his only functioning arm, keeping Sorey still. “This isn’t what you think.”

“What—what the hell, Sorey!” Boris arrived at that moment, breathing heavily as he tried to calm down his own horse. “You can’t charge in like that—! Oh, hey bro.”

“Everything’s fine, you two,” Sergei said softly, palming Sorey's horse's neck. “I imagined you’d see the fire in the distance once night fell, and I came out to wait for you.” His eyes slid towards Sorey then, calm despite Sorey’s clear agitation. “We are not under attack.”

“But—But the fire—!” Sorey was breathing heavily too, having trouble looking away from the fire that seemed to burn brighter and higher the longer time went on. “What—!?”

“Calm down, and I’ll explain.”

Sorey breathed in once, twice, not looking away from Sergei’s expression. But, finally, he nodded and dismounted, scratching the side of his horse’s neck softly with his nails. He knew he could trust Sergei; he would have told him immediately if it was something serious, if Mikleo was in danger.

The soothing scratching calmed both the animal and Sorey, who sighed and looked back at Sergei.

“Sorry,” He whispered, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “I just—“

“I know,” Sergei smiled softly at him, trying to be reassuring. “That’s why I came out to wait for you.”

“Wait, so you knew where we were?” Sorey’s eyes opened wide. He had thought Boris hadn’t—

“Boris left me a note,” Sergei said, and turned a glare towards his twin brother. “A rather succinct note, actually.”

“I was trying to keep you out of trouble!” Boris exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. “Plausible deniability and all that.”

Sergei didn’t seem too thankful. His frown deepened as he made a gesture with the hand that didn’t hang from his sling. “My band, if you please.”

Rolling his eyes, Boris reached into his bag and pulled Sergei’s band, letting it rest in his brother’s outstretched hand immediately. “Kill joy.”

“Yes, yes. Did you guys have any trouble…?”

Boris shrugged. “Not really. I know how to play your role, bro.” He smirked, but Sergei only rolled his eyes once again. “We’ll tell you about it later, but for now tell us what’s going on? Sorey looks like he’s about to sprint up the hill.”

At that, Sorey suddenly stopped fidgeting, which he hadn't realized he was doing. “I— Sorry.”

Sergei shook his head. “It’s fine, Sorey. I promise you, Mikleo is alright, and so are the knights.”

Sorey had already figured that out, for Sergei would’ve never hidden something like that from him, but it still felt nice hearing it. He could breathe easier if he knew Mikleo was alright.

“But things have happened, while you two were away.” Sergei continued, and Sorey’s dread came back as soon as it had left. He swallowed hard, preparing himself for the worst. “It’s been… an intense day.”

“Just spit it out, bro,” Boris prompted, crossing his arms over his chest. “It can’t be that bad…”

“It can,” Sergei said, and a shadow crossed over his features, making him seem too old and too tired. “…The Seraph is dead.”

“ _What!?”_

_“Seraph Symonne!?”_

“Yes,” Sergei replied to both shouts, sighing softly. “Apparently she was injured during the attack. She died not long after.”

“But—“ Sorey forced his brain to work past ‘the Seraph is dead’, his tongue stumbling over the words. “But they said they were both fine! How come we didn’t know until now?”

“Because it wasn't knights’ business,” Sergei said, and the tone of his voice made it seem like he was quoting what someone else had said. “They kept it zealously, until today.” Turning towards the Academy, Sergei pointed at the still going fire with his chin. The tall column of white smoke hid the moon from view. “The funeral started with the bells, and it will continue until tomorrow morning.”

Sorey felt a pang of pain across his chest. It made sense, in a way. The Congregation of Mages was overzealous with their affairs, and the death of their most powerful member couldn’t be any different. Not even Mikleo must have known about it until the last moment, having spent most of the time after the attack at the infirmary.

For all he knew, Mikleo might have not even been able to attend the funeral, if he hadn’t been dispatched from his sickbed yet.

The moment Sorey returned his gaze from the bonfire visible over the walls, he found Boris looking at him already, and a flash of agreement sparkled between them in the blink of an eye. Even if Sorey had been thinking about Mikleo, there was a part of himself that had been thinking the same as Boris; their first suspect for two out of the three deaths was suddenly dead, caused by the same attack that had ended the knights’ lives.

Things had seemed complicated before; now they were just a mess.

“So now,” Boris started with an incredulous laugh, making the other two men look at him with raised brows. “Not only we’re about to lose the north, but we don’t have a Seraph anymore!? And you say we’re alright, Serg!?”

“We are, for now,” Sergei said, using his placating tone. “The wards around Pendrago have been restored, and the King is planning to send troops to the north to help with the situation—“

“ _What!?”_ Both Sorey and Boris exclaimed, but only Sorey continued speaking. “But winter is here! The mountains surrounding Hellawes are a death trap by this time of the year!”

“I know. I don’t know much about it because I just got out of the infirmary this morning, but I have a reunion with the King in a couple of days.” Sergei sighed, rubbing the side of his face. “Honestly, I think he’s just in need of a victory. His grief…”

“He has a country to rule,” Boris snapped, harsh and unforgiving. “We all go through grief, but we don’t send people to our deaths because of it.”

Sorey gaped at Boris. He wasn’t used to such outbursts from him, after all. Boris was usually laid back and tranquil, never once letting his emotions cloud his judgment. But tonight… Tonight Boris’ seemed raw, purging to get out of his chest.

Even Sergei was surprised at his brother’s harsh words. “Boris…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Boris waved his hand idly, looking away. His cheeks were red by the light of Sergei’s lamp. “Whatever.”

“…I feel like you two need some rest.” Sergei said after a tense silence, dropping his hand on Sorey’s shoulder and squeezing it. “You can tell me how your investigation went in the morning. And I’ll make sure to give you a proper telling-off for it then.”

Sorey smiled at him. “Thanks, Sergei. I do feel pretty tired.”

“Boris, come with me to the stables. Sorey, I’ll take your horse.”

“Ah, I can do it—!”

“Go,” Boris said, with a knowing smile that felt a tiny bit forced. “Someone’s waiting for you up there.”

Sorey whipped his head to the side and a bit up, looking at the top of the hill. And sure enough, just by the path to the Academy, Sorey could see Mikleo, standing bathed in a mix of firelight and the silver of the moon. He couldn’t see his expression, hidden like always behind his mask, but Sorey quickly saw the tense line of his back, the tight fists by his sides. He swallowed, his heart speeding up as if urging him on.

“I…”

“We’ll go the long way,” Boris said, and ruffled his hair up with his hand. “Have fun!”

Sorey thought about replying to that, but something in Mikleo’s posture made him rush up the hill instead, eyes fixed on Mikleo.

He didn’t look back at his brothers, but Boris’ snort followed him, carried by the wind.

 

* * *

 

“You’re back.”

Those were Mikleo’s first words the moment Sorey stopped his jog in front of him. Sorey’s greeting died on his tongue, killed by Mikleo’s tone. It was surprising, how much emotion his friend was pouring into his voice.

He sounded… relieved.

“Mikleo, are you okay?” Sorey asked, shuffling closer. He was already worried by the fact that Mikleo had been waiting for him, so close to the bonfire and the other mages, but alarm bells started to blast off inside Sorey’s head when Mikleo didn’t move away at Sorey’s proximity. “Sergei just told me about the Seraph. I’m—“

“I’ve been looking at her body burn for most of the day,” Mikleo suddenly said, turning his head away. His fists at his sides trembled softly from the tension. “I don’t want to talk about the Seraph.”

“I… okay.” Sorey nodded, feeling like there was more under the words Mikleo was using, but deciding it was better not to push it for now.

“Where were you?” Mikleo asked then, turning his face slightly to look at Sorey, and Sorey could imagine Mikleo looking at him from the corner of his eye. “I looked for you, but you were nowhere within my magic’s reach…”

“Boris and I left for Gododdin before sunrise,” Sorey admitted, trying not to let the fact that Mikleo had been seeking him affect him much. Then he lowered his head so Mikleo could hear him when he whispered: “We went to investigate the dead knights’ bodies.”

“You did?” That seemed to perk Mikleo up, who was suddenly very attentive to Sorey’s words.

Sorey made a gesture with his head, and guided them both away from the light of the funeral and into the shadows, before replying. “Yeah. And you were right, Mikleo. Something’s wrong with them. Very, very wrong.”

“Tell me about it.” Mikleo was rocking on the balls of his feet with excitement by then, the tension in his shoulders being replaced by another kind of tension. “Tell me everything.”

But Sorey looked around, scratching the back of his own neck apologetically. “I will… but maybe not right now? I don’t feel comfortable talking about this here, to be honest.”

Mikleo jumped in his spot, as if realizing where he was for the first time. He looked around too, only relaxing once he saw they were surrounded by shadows, and so invisible to anyone who didn’t know they were there. Sorey could see him moving in the darkness, used to seeing in the dark after so many training sessions and battles at night.

“Alright. Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” Sorey promised, smiling at Mikleo even though he wasn’t sure if he could see him. But apparently he did, because the next thing Mikleo did was a step closer, lifting his left hand so it hovered over Sorey’s chest, not touching but close enough to make Sorey’s heart threaten to escape from his chest.

Under Mikleo’s palm and Sorey’s _kamui_ , Sorey’s necklace shone brighter, its fiery light casting light on both their features.

“You seem tired,” Mikleo commented, looking up at Sorey.

“So do you,” Sorey said back with a smile. “Long day?”

“I guess,” Mikleo lifted his other hand to rub at his face, but his fingers bumped against his mask, so he settled on rubbing the side of his own neck instead. “First the funeral, then worrying about you all day, and the blue mages…”

“The blue mages?”

“…Let’s leave that for tomorrow, as well.” Mikleo said after a small pause, lowering his hand. The necklace's light diminished, until only its usual faint, orange hue remained. “I don’t think either of us has the energy to talk about that now.”

“Mm, maybe you’re right,” Sorey admitted, stretching his arms behind himself with a soft groan. “Right now I feel like fifty carriages went over me at full speed.”

Mikleo snorted at that. “Go rest, then. And stop sneaking around. You really need to sleep.”

Sorey smiled at Mikleo’s severe tone. “Fine. But only if you promise to stop worrying about me. You should know by now I can take care of myself, Mikleo!”

There was a frown on Mikleo’s voice then, sweet but lethal. “You left without my amulets and without telling me. I think I had reason to be worried!”

“Nah… Seriously, don’t worry!”

Sorey could practically hear the roll of Mikleo’s eyes then. But before Sorey could add anything else, Mikleo moved, albeit slowly, pushing himself onto the front of his feet until their foreheads bumped together, only Mikleo’s mask separating them from each other. Sorey’s breath got caught in his chest; the masks didn’t have slits for the mouths, but Sorey could have sworn he could feel Mikleo’s breath against his cheeks, sending his heart into overdrive.

He didn’t dare to move, waiting still until Mikleo spoke again.

“Thank you for coming back, Sorey.” Mikleo whispered. A second later, he leaned his weight back again on the back of his feet, separating himself from Sorey.

But Sorey didn’t let him get far. He followed Mikleo as he moved down, keeping their foreheads together and letting the tip of his nose brush against the cold material of Mikleo’s mask. He didn’t want to say goodbye to the feeling of Mikleo being so close just yet. Even if the mask still separated them, even if the glow of his necklace gave the mask an eerie look… Sorey wanted to be right there, pressed against Mikleo as much as he could; feeling, for the first time since he had set foot in the Academy grounds, at home.

“I’ll always come back to you, Mikleo,” Sorey promised, his words brushing against Mikleo’s mask before being carried away by the wind.

_Always._


	9. Chapter 8: Bleeding heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So sorry for the long wait, but it looks like updates are going to be slow from now on. Still fear not, updates will be popping up every now and then!
> 
> Things are starting to roll~ Hope all of you enjoy today's chapter! <3

Mages were used to waiting.

They spent their lives waiting, after all. They waited for the perfect moment to begin their morning prayers, waited for the earthpulse to grant them access to their magic, waited for the knights to come back home. Their lives were an endless circle of waiting, of waiting and praying, so it was no wonder Mikleo had no problem with it, always keeping his composure and letting the minutes pass him by silently.

But that day, he couldn’t help the nervous jiggle of his leg as he waited right at the entrance of the blue mages’ residence, sitting on a bench and feeling his _sumari_ tight around his neck. He was never like this but, then again, he had never been called by the blue mages for a meeting before. The blue mages, as the most powerful mages in the Academy, were the ones in charge of testing the mages’ abilities before passing to the next rank, made sure everyone did their task; they basically made sure the Academy functioned as it was supposed to.

However, it was strange for them to call someone to them, unless it was something very important. And for Mikleo, who had had to stand before the blue mages each time he had gone up a rank, this was a first. It was always with a letter slipped under his door that the blue mages accepted his decision to sit for the next rank’s exam.

Mikleo was about to kick a hole into the floor.

He tried to think about what could merit a meeting with the blue mages while he waited, and came up with nothing. It had been almost four days since the attack, a day since getting dispatched from the infirmary, and only a night since the Seraph’s funeral had ended.

He hadn’t had time to get into any trouble, really.

Although… that wasn’t exactly true, he realized, feeling all of his blood drain from his face.

The last day had been almost as crazy as the rest. Lailah had come to his infirmary room just as he had been about to leave, dressed in her ceremonial attire and a thick winter coat, hands clasped before her to deliver the news about the Seraph to him with a grave face. Even now, Mikleo wouldn’t be able to describe the emotion that had crawled under his skin and curled around his heart after hearing Lailah’s words. It wasn’t sadness, that was for sure; there was no misery in hearing that Symonne had passed away. But it was something _akin_ to it — he might not have felt anything at the girl’s death, but he did feel his heart clench at the thought of what she represented not existing anymore. The Seraph, the guide of every mage, the pillar of their King—

Dead.

Just. Like. That.

Thousands of questions had rushed to the tip of Mikleo’s tongue — _how, when, where, who…—_ , but he swallowed them back down. There was a sense of urgency in the line of Lailah’s shoulders, in the tilt of her head as she waited for Mikleo to follow her into the grounds. Her eyes, dulled by the dark glass of her ceremonial mask, were understanding but firm. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the details.

So he had shrugged his own thick coat over his clothes and followed Lailah down the stairs, a hand on the stone wall to keep himself straight. His head still felt light and his hips too heavy, making each step feel like a feat even if he was simply going down the stairs. And while they walked, Mikleo lifted his free hand to look at it, fingers slightly curled inwards; it was the hand with which he had touched Sorey’s the night before, trailed his fingers down the hardened skin and felt the light trembles underneath as Sorey fought to stay still. The touch had felt so grounding, so familiar, that Mikleo had found himself reaching into his very core to follow the faint path that always lead him to Sorey; to that part of himself that always lived with his friend, not only on the necklace he wore, but in his heart.

And in that moment Mikleo had realized that there was no path to follow.

He couldn’t find Sorey anywhere. Not in the Academy grounds, not in the Tower, nowhere within the reach of Mikleo’s magic. He had stopped abruptly in the middle of the stairs, staring blankly at the stone beneath his feet as his heart galloped in his chest. Sorey was gone.

He had left the grounds.

His mind had quickly rushed to find an explanation. Sorey couldn’t have left for a battle without letting Mikleo know, so he must had left the grounds for something else. Which… was weird. The funeral of the Seraph wasn’t the knights’ business, but Mikleo guessed they would be asked to stay in the grounds during such a strange time.

_‘You snuck out, didn’t you…?’_ Mikleo had thought with a frown, tapping his fingers against his thigh. _‘But why—?’_

The moment they reached the outdoors Mikleo looked up, closing his eyes against the sudden sunlight.

There had been no sight of a golden bird waiting to deliver a message.

The scent of fire and incense reached them as soon as they set foot on the soft grass. The sky overhead had been tinted gray with a column of smoke, and both Lailah and Mikleo had followed it to the funeral, willing their steps to be softer the closer they got.

Mikleo had felt his breath catch in his chest at the sight. There had been an enormous pyre facing east, the flames so tall they almost reached the tips of the towers of the castle, burning in the utmost silence. Long, purple flags flew softly in the breeze a few meters from the fire, the king’s emblem — a roaring lion — embroidered on the dark fabric with golden thread. Behind them, the pyre engulfed a sturdy altar where a figure draped in thick, velvety drags laid, surrounded by flowers of colors Mikleo had never seen, still beautiful despite the ash that fell softly upon the petals.

And before the altar, before the flags, the mages kneeled in silence with their heads bowed, ceremonial masks covering their upper features. Mikleo looked down at himself, at his day to day clothes and full mask, and the feeling of letting someone down took place in his heart. As if he wasn’t showing enough respect. But no one said anything to him, no one even looked in his direction as Lailah guided him through the rows of praying mages, their thoughts begging for the Seraph’s rest to be a peaceful one.

Nothing broke the oppressing silence. The incense hanging in the air did a good job at masking the smell of burning flesh.

Even in that moment of shared fear and pain, even while mourning the loss of a common symbol, Mikleo wasn’t surprised to find that the mages had settled themselves according to rank, being the blue mages the closest to the pyre. Mikleo observed as some white mages lifted their heads up when he passed by, childish eyes looking at him with curiosity, only to quickly turned them back down towards the ground.

Mikleo left them behind, eyes set on the flames as his feet took him to his place with the green mages.

As he got closer, he finally got sight of a lone figure kneeling the closest to the fire to the pyre closer than the blue mages. The King, with a long, furry, purple cape that matched the flags weighed down on his shoulders and trailed after him like dark blood spilling on the grass. The golden crown on his head reflected the light of the flames and the sun as he tilted his head down, not a full bow, but not standing upright either.

Mikleo remembered looking away in that moment, feeling like he was intruding in something very private. The King had knelt with them until nightfall, joining their silent voices with his own in a mournful prayer. Underneath them all, the earthpulse had trembled gently, still upset.

It seemed like the repercussions of the attack hadn’t ended just yet.

But his late —an underdressed—appearance at the Seraph’s funeral wasn’t the reason why the blue mages were calling him in that day, Mikleo knew. No, what made Mikleo go pale and stop his nervous jittering as he waited was the realization of what he had done later, once night had fallen and the mages had gotten up from bruised knees to return to their lives inside the Academy. Mikleo hadn’t joined them inside, walking away from them instead when he had felt a spark in his chest, like a zap that had made him stop dead in his tracks and turn toward the gates, hands balling into fists.

And that, _that_ split second decision he had made last night could very well be the reason why the blue mages had called for him that day. The way he had turned his back on the Academy to meet Sorey in the shadows, heart about to burst from his chest as he took in the sight of his childhood friend, sweaty and tired but safe. And after spending _hours_ kneeling in the grass, thinking about death and departure and everything that they could lose now that there was no Seraph to protect them all…

Mikleo had wanted to hug Sorey like he never had before. All those shameful times when he had thought he would burn if he didn’t get to feel someone else’s skin against his seemed like a joke compared to that moment. And he had given in to it, stepping closer until he had felt Sorey’s breath ghost against his neck, the warm weight of his forehead pressed against his mask. The feeling had been exciting and slightly intimidating, its fiery burning rivaling with that of the fire a little ways behind them.

Mikleo wouldn’t be surprised if someone had felt it too. Not with the way Mikleo’s heart had beaten, the way his whole magic seemed to beg him to wish for something _more_ to happen. It was the shaking of the Earthpulse all over again, just— this time, _Mikleo_ had been the Earthpulse itself, coiling and demanding at anything that might had been listening to please grant him just this small moment.

Only now did Mikleo realize the implications of those thoughts.

Only now, when forced to look at them from a _mage’s_ point of view, did he hate them.

“Lord Mikleo?”

Mikleo’s head snapped up as his whole body went tense, his hands suddenly gripping the edge of the bench. There was a servant in front of him, her hands clasped before her white outfit as she looked at Mikleo with a worried expression. Mikleo’s heart did a somersault, but he still forced his body to move up gracefully, hiding his shaking hands behind the layers of his _sumari._

“Yes?”

The servant seemed to relax then, a polite smile blooming on her lips. It pulled at the corners of her scar —a thin, old one that ran over the bridge of her nose — and it, for some reason, made Mikleo’s heart calm down slightly. “The blue mages will receive you now, my Lord.”

Mikleo hid a nervous frown behind his mask, nodding at the servant and following after her when she turned around. Her steps were fast and secure, and Mikleo soon found himself forgetting about his nerves to concentrate on breathing evenly.

The servant guided him through a long corridor, candles on the walls lighting their way towards a familiar room. She was guiding Mikleo towards the Tester — a room shaped like a semi circle where mages were made to show their magic prowess before being allowed to move up a rank. The tests were exhausting. During his green test —a month and a half ago—, Mikleo had been asked to infuse enough magic into a decaying tree to make it give fruit again. He had done it, in the end, but the backlash had made Mikleo unable to move for a day.

The apples from the tree had been simply perfect though.

There was no door at the entrance of the Tester; the corridor simply died into the room, making the intruder come into view with an open space, only filled by a long table near the furthest wall. The floor and ceiling were made of stone, nothing at all covering them. The only exception was the table, made of dark wood, and the four blue mages sitting behind it, all of their identical masks facing Mikleo.

Usually, when Mikleo walked into the room, he did so with tranquility and security, knowing himself capable of taking the test. But today—

Today Mikleo was feeling nothing like tranquility.

The servant didn’t even enter the room. She stayed in the shadows by the door, bowing slightly at Mikleo before marching back the way they had come, with just the same swiftness. Mikleo stayed in the threshold, not even daring to entertain the idea of bolting.

He wasn’t like that. He would comply with any punishment that might come his way with a raised chin and squared shoulders.

“Do come in, Lord Mikleo.”

Leaving his nervousness behind, Mikleo stepped into the Tester.

The blue mages rose from their seats. Their chairs scraped the stone as they moved back in unison, and the sound made Mikleo stop dead in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat as the mages looked at him for a long second — and bowed to him.

That… had never happened before.

Mikleo bowed back to them, a little bit hurriedly, but hiding it well behind his politeness.

When he rose, the blue mages hadn’t looked up yet.

“Be welcome, Lord Mikleo,” one of them said behind their mask. The soft and amicable tone was unquestionably Lord Uno’s. “It is our blessing to see you here, today.”

“It is my blessing to be here, my lords and ladies,” Mikleo said back, his voice easily falling back into a controlled tone. All the mages had rose already, but none of them had sat back down.

“We are sure,” another one said, one with a crisp voice, gray hair falling over the upper part of their mask. Balius. “That you know why we have called you here today.”

Mikleo didn’t, but he wasn’t going to tell the blue mages that they were wrong either. “I…”

“What you did for us the other day has no name, Lord Mikleo,” said another mage, and even if Mikleo hadn’t seen her braid over her shoulder, he would have recognized Lailah’s voice anywhere. “You did more than you might think.”

“Exactly,” Uno continued. “If it was not for you and your perseverance, we do not know where we blue mages would be right now.”

“Do not push it, Uno,” Balius said, finally sitting down. His mask was tilted towards Mikleo, even if it was Uno he was speaking to. “The child did well, but his intervention has nothing to do with our lives—“

“How can you say that—“ a new voice started, and Mikleo saw the fourth blue mage, who had been silent until now, finally speak up. It was Lady Forsea. “—when our table is emptier than ever, Lord Balius?”

Mikleo lowered his head, clasping his hands behind his back. The blue mages’ table _was_ indeed empty. To Forsea’s right and Balius’ left rested unoccupied chairs, more than any number of blue mages Mikleo had seen over the years. The annals talked about large numbers of blue mages centuries ago, but the recent unpredictability of the Earthpulse made it unable for many mages to reach the blue status. And then, two blue mages had died while bringing up the barriers, their lives consumed by the enormous power beneath their feet.

It was very hard to forget that loss with their empty chairs by their sides.

Balius said nothing, but made a low sound from behind his mask. Lailah was the next to sit down, making a hidden gesture with her hand —Lailah’s way to throw him a wink. Mikleo would be lying if it didn't make him feel a bit better. But then Lady Forsea took a seat as well, leaving Uno as the only one standing.

“Lord Mikleo,” Uno called then, making Mikleo raise his chin and let his hands fall back to his sides. “I hope you have not forgotten what I told you that day, after danger had passed.”

Mikleo’s heart skipped a beat. He did. “…You called me ‘brother’.”

The word _brother_ had a different meaning for a knight and for a mage. Mikleo only knew this thanks to Sorey, and the way he spoke warmly of his brothers in the Tower. For them, a brother was someone you trusted with your life, someone you formed a bond with stronger than blood, stronger than _magic._ It was someone who had your back; as long as they were by your side, you could throw yourself into the middle of battle and know that no harm would come to you. Mikleo had heard the loyalty and _love_ in Sorey’s voice when speaking of his brothers.

But for a mage, it was nothing like that.

In the Academy, the word ‘brother’ was related to status. To power. There weren’t brothers nor sisters among the lower ranks. They were all children to the powerful blue mages, underlings whose magic hadn’t still reached their full potential, or never would. But there was no one above the blue mages, so they were underlings to no one. They were brothers or sisters, the blue in their eyes the only trait that they shared between them.

Lord Uno had called Mikleo ‘brother’ that day, and it hadn’t been because he trusted Mikleo with his life.

He simply had acknowledged Mikleo as his equal.

“Exactly,” Lord Uno continued, a faint smile on his voice. “Blue bloomed in your eyes after the rising of the wards. And we are here today to ask you, brother, to test your new powers and join us in wearing the blue _sumari_.”

Cold sweat rolled down Mikleo’s back, his heart drumming inside his chest. Take the blue test? _Now?_ “But… but I became a green mage not even two months ago…”

“Time only has the value we wish to give it, Lord Mikleo,” Uno said, taking his seat with deliberate slowness. “It does not matter how long you’ve been a green mage for. Only if you have what is needed to be a blue one.”

“…Why?” Mikleo’s head felt like it was full of cotton. Thoughts were slow on their way to his mouth. “I… I’ve never even heard of blue mages _inviting_ someone to take the exam—“

“Because it has never happened before,” Balius interrupted, elbows on the table and his chin on his joined hands. “Consider it our way to say thank you. We ask you to join us, instead of waiting for you to do it.”

“Do you not see yourself capable, Lord Mikleo?” Lady Forsea asked, tilting her head to the side. “Because you showed us clearly the other day that you are very capable.”

Mikleo shook his head. His hands felt clammy, but an idea was starting to take seed under the cotton. He knew the mages; they were creatures of tradition, of convention. They had their rules and they stuck to them, no matter what.

Not even as a way of saying ‘thank you’.

“I just need to know why,” Mikleo said severely, squaring his shoulders. He expected a change in the mages, some kind of signal that let Mikleo know he had overstepped his boundaries… But, once again, the masks over their features were good at concealing what shouldn’t be shown. “I appreciate your words… But I need to know why.”

The mages looked among them in silence. Mikleo looked at them for a long second, and then his eyes turned to Lailah, who didn’t meet his gaze.

That… that was bad. Mikleo could feel his gloved hands tremble by his sides; he hid them behind his back.

“…Forgive us, Lord Mikleo,” Lord Uno said, all of them finally turning towards him, and Uno’s voice sounded more truthful than it had before. “We _are_ grateful. However… there is no hiding that we had other intentions.”

Mikleo inhaled through his nose, kept the air locked in his chest, and then let it out slowly with his voice. “I am listening.”

“We are going through uncertain times, Lord Mikleo,” started Lady Forsea, leaning softly over the table towards Mikleo. “The war with Kuba Empire gets bloodier each day. It is getting more and more difficult to bring our knights back home, and the Earthpulse keeps demanding too much of us to do so.”

Mikleo found himself nodding, immersed in Forsea’s words. He knew all that. He lived all that.

“But most importantly,” Balius added, voice grave. “We do not have a Seraph anymore. The sudden death of Seraph Symonne has left us unprotected, unguided. We cannot let this situation go for longer than it already has.”

“…I still do not know what that has to do with me, my Lord—“

“I am sure you would, Lord Mikleo,” Lailah said softly but firmly. Mikleo wished she had called him ‘Mikleo-san’, like always. “If only you stopped to think about it.”

And the truth was… Mikleo did know. It was a truth deep in his heart, one that he didn’t want to look at. Only the most powerful among the powerful were granted the name of Seraph. Only the one whose magic had no rival served by the King’s side, as the guide of the Academy and its mages.

Only a blue mage could be the next Seraph.

To say Mikleo’s legs felt weak suddenly was an understatement.

“…Why me?” Mikleo asked with a thin voice. He seemed to be unable to ask anything else but ‘why’.

It was Lailah who replied, speaking slowly, as if she knew how hard it was for Mikleo to process this. She probably did. “You saved us, Mikleo-san,” his name said like that made Mikleo’s head snap up, his eyes finding hers despite the distance, despite the masks. Balius looked up as well, but there was more annoyance than surprise in the posture of his body. “There is great potential within you. And we are not the only ones saying so.”

_The King._ The answer came to Mikleo easier than the previous answer, making his heart stop for a long second. _The King himself has requested me._

“It is the blue mages who choose a candidate within themselves to present to the King,” Lord Uno explained, getting up once again. But this time he didn’t stay by his chair; he walked behind the others and around the table, moving closer to Mikleo with sure but careful steps. “But, well… we cannot deny our King, can we?”

“He was very impressed, once he was told about what happened in the Meadow,” Lady Forsea picked up where Uno had left it. “He said he had already realized you were special, the moment he saw you.”

_The parade._ It was strange to look back onto that moment, the King stopping right in front of him, tracing the edge of Mikleo’s ceremonial mask with his thumb. He had looked at Mikleo with no fear, but with curiosity and intrigue, as if he had wanted to know more of Mikleo with just one glance at him.

No one had ever looked at Mikleo like that before.

"We might not dismiss the King’s opinion, but we will not forgo the rules because of his insistence,” Lord Balius said, unaware of the desperate beating of Mikleo’s heart. “Take the blue test, Lord Mikleo, and should you pass it, we will talk about the future.”

Mikleo could hear his own heart in his head, beating stronger than any drum, faster than the gallop of a horse. The Seraph. He was only one test away from maybe becoming the strongest mage of their generation, one step away from becoming the King’s right hand. It was every mage’s dream, not for the glory it brought, but because of the opportunities. Mikleo would be able to access the Earthpulse from anywhere, use his magic for much better things than amulets and prayers. He would take care of the Royal Guard's blessings, infuse with magic the King’s jewels to bring him health and prosperity.

He would travel the world, bringing magic to places beyond the Academy grounds.

It was what Mikleo had always wanted. To put to an use the magic that he had never asked for, to use it to its full capacity; he had made a vow to himself to never back down, to never be anything else than what he could be.

He only had to take one test and say—

“ _No,_ ” Mikleo said, loud and clear despite looking down, and his voice ricocheted against the stone walls in a way that made the four blue mages freeze.

“No?” Uno echoed, astounded.

“…I do not think you are understanding what we are implying, Lord Mikleo,” Forsea started after a confused second, rising up from her chair with hands on the table. “We said—“

“I do know, my Lady,” Mikleo interrupted. Had the other mages been able to see this face, they would have cowered under the intensity in his eyes. “I know.”

And of course he knew. But even if this was a dream come true, even if being the Seraph was the honor he deserved, Mikleo… Mikleo couldn’t accept it. Because being the King’s Seraph meant being by his side. Meant leaving the Academy behind, maybe to never return.

It meant leaving _Sorey, forever._

And he couldn’t do it. Mikleo couldn’t— Because… Because…

His name was a mantra inside Mikleo’s head. His name, his smile, his scent, his warmth… they all overpowered the idea of becoming the Seraph, overpowered the love he was supposed to feel towards his King and his kingdom. Mikleo knew that such thoughts were inconsiderable for a mage, to put someone else over his duties, the reason he had been born for. He had been created for the sake of thousands and instead…

There was no choice. Not after realizing his feelings, not after the toolkit, and the Meadow, and the touch of their skin two nights ago, and their tender moment just the night before.

There was no choosing, because there was no other option than to stay by Sorey’s side.

He knew that much already.

“Stupid child!” Balius suddenly exclaimed, hitting the tabletop with a closed fist, and the sound reverberated. Everyone in the room turned to look at him, but the only one who didn’t react to the shouting was Mikleo. “You are being given the opportunity to save our kingdom, and you dare to refuse it—!?”

“Balius-sama,” Lailah spoke up, and Mikleo’s eyes widened at the controlled fury in her voice. He had never seen her that mad before. “You have no right to insult Mikleo-san like that. Apologize immediately.”

“He is the one who should apologize!” Balius replied, twisting his body to look at Lailah. “What reason could be good enough to refuse the King himself, huh?”

At that, even Lailah backed down, looking from Mikleo to Balius with a soft swish of her braid. “I am sure Mikleo-san has a good reason to…”

“…Lord Mikleo,” Lord Uno started, gentle as ever, his voice low as if to give a sense of privacy, but Mikleo was completely sure the other mages could still hear him. “Could it be that you do not see yourself capable of doing this?”

“…Yes,” Mikleo muttered, the lie burning his tongue, the back of his throat, and the deepest part of his chest.

It was a lie, because he was sure that he could do it. That he would pass the blue test despite being a green for so little time, and that he would be a great Seraph for the kingdom and the King. It wasn’t being conceited, Mikleo just simply knew he was capable of doing it. No one should have been able to do what he had done in the Meadow, but he had. No one had grabbed the King’s attention like he did in the parade before, but Mikleo had. No one had been _asked_ to take the blue exam but there were the blue mages, angry at Mikleo for his refusal at their request. Mikleo had always known he was destined to greater things than what he could do inside the walls of the Academy… he was just getting confirmation now.

But this lie was a way out, one that Uno had given him without realizing. Mikleo could never talk about Sorey to the mages, but he would lie if he had to.

Even if it burnt and tore at his soul to do so.

“Lord Mikleo, we really do think you could do this,” Lady Forsea said softly. Mikleo had never seen her face, but he imagined she was smiling truthfully at him now, and the thought made his stomach revolt. “We would not have gotten this far if we did not.”

“…I agree,” Lord Balius said, sounding more composed now. Almost gentle. “You have great potential, Lord Mikleo. Do not let it go to waste because of your inner demons.”

_‘That comes a little bit too late, Lord Balius,’_ Mikleo thought, remembering a child Sorey clinging to him, refusing to let him leave their hometown on his own. Maybe the decision had been taken even back then; a childish promise to always stay together that had inevitably turned into an oath of its own.

Mikleo’s love for Sorey was his biggest demon; but it had been living inside Mikleo for far too long to force it out now.

‘ _…Then I was never really suited for this.’_ Mikleo kept thinking, face tilted down. ‘ _Because how am I supposed to throw my heart into a cause when it’s not mine to begin with?’_

“Maybe we could give Lord Mikleo a few days to think it over,” Lailah suggested. “This is something bigger than any of us here. We cannot expect him to rush into it blindly.”

“That is true,” Uno added. “If anything, this only comes to show Lord Mikleo’s dedication. Others would have thrown themselves into this without thinking if they were suited for the role first. I feel like we should thank you again, Lord Mikleo.”

Each of Uno’s words were daggers digging their way between Mikleo’s ribs. Mikleo was sure of what he wanted to do, what he _needed_ to do… But in doing so, he was going against everything he believed in.

The blue mages’ kindness did nothing but push the daggers deeper.

“Please, there is no need to thank me,” Mikleo muttered, finally looking up. “Really.”

“There is no time,” Lord Balius said, “We cannot waste any more time without a Seraph. Should the wards fall again, should something happen…”

“Surely we can spare two days at least,” Lord Uno concluded. “Let us have this reunion in two days time. And, hopefully, Lord Mikleo will see the right choice clearly by then.”

Mikleo flinched behind his mask. He knew there were no chances of that happening but he still nodded, following the movement with a slow bow. “Thank you, my Lords and Ladies.”

“We trust in your judgement, Lord Mikleo,” Lailah said, and maybe it was only because Mikleo was exhausted from it all happening so fast, but he thought he had heard something else in Lailah’s voice then. As if she knew exactly what was keeping Mikleo away from saying yes. “We know the answer your heart dictates will be the correct one, in the end.”

Mikleo bowed again and this time, he stayed down. “Thank you, Lady Lailah.”

He left after being dismissed soon after, walking on numb feet until the doors closed behind him and he could collapse against a wall, letting the darkness of the corridor wrap itself around him like a comforting blanket.

Mikleo took his mask off then, and rubbed at his eyes.

He pretended not to notice when they shook against his cheeks.

 

* * *

 

Although the first snow hadn’t reached the Academy yet, winter sure had already.

Mikleo felt the bite of the cold in his skin the moment he stepped out into the rooftop. He was wearing his thickest coat, and his mask and veil kept his face guarded from the freezing air, but the stone beneath his feet pushed the cold past the thin material of his shoes, biting around his ankles where fabric didn’t cover them. Mikleo forced down a shiver, walking to leave his lamp on in the middle of the deserted rooftop with his mask and then some more, to peek over the balustrade and down into the darkness below.

Unsurprisingly, he found Sorey down there, hanging easily from a rope and looking towards the distance. He seemed at ease there, tranquil and pensive, like the gargoyles Mikleo had seen rest at the top of the cathedrals sketched in his history books. Mikleo followed the edges of Sorey’s profile with his eyes, silhouetted against the darkness and framed by the light at Mikleo’s back, and Mikleo felt his heart squeeze tightly in his chest at the idea of never seeing that face again.

It made him choke on his words, but Sorey was too far down to catch the nuance of his voice.

“Are you coming up or what?”

Sorey suddenly looked up, making the rope sway as he tilted his head even further up to smile at Mikleo brighter than any star. He didn’t need words before he was twisting around and climbing up the rope, pulling himself up to the balustrade with the sheer force of his arms.

The movement brought them close, more so since Mikleo refused to move back and away. When Sorey pulled himself up all the way they found each other standing at each side of the balustrade, Sorey over the darkness, Mikleo with his feet firmly planted on the stony rooftop. They were the same height like this, eyes to eyes, nose to nose, and Mikleo’s gaze fell to Sorey’s smiling mouth before they snapped back up with a strong beat of his heart.

When Sorey laughed, he did so with a hint of boyishness that made his eyes twinkle and a flash of white teeth.

It made Mikleo feel the happiest he had been all day.

“Hi, Mikleo!” Sorey suddenly exclaimed, dangling one foot over the nothingness beyond the rooftop. “Uh, can I come in?”

In lieu of an answer, Mikleo stepped aside to let Sorey jump over and land right next to him, the illusion of having the same height gone forever. But it was that moment of going back to normal that allowed Mikleo to see what he hadn’t before: that strain to Sorey’s mouth, making his smile not as bright as it usually was, his shoulders tense under the pelt strapped to his back.

Mikleo suddenly wanted to grab his hand; that rough, ungloved hand that Sorey was using to snap the strap off his chest and extend the pelt over the ground by the lamp.

‘ _I’m throwing everything else away,’_ Mikleo thought bitterly, walking towards his friend. ‘ _What does another rule matter?’_

But something forced Mikleo’s hand to stay away from Sorey’s.

Guilt, most likely.

“Rough day?” Mikleo asked instead, looking down at Sorey as he let himself fall on the pelt with a sigh.

“How can you tell?” Sorey asked back with a tired smile.

“You didn’t make a joke about ‘leaving you hanging’. That was pretty telling.”

Sorey laughed, warm and easy despite the tiredness. “Maybe it was because I know you’ll always come to pull me up.”

“Mm,” Mikleo sat by Sorey’s side then, on the empty space over the warm pelt. He kept his eyes on the fur, caressing it like he would a pet. “I guess I will.”

“…Did you have a rough day too?” Sorey wondered, and when Mikleo looked up he found Sorey leaning close, a worried look clouding the human but beautiful green of his eyes.

Mikleo smirked, not pulling away. “How can you tell?”

“You didn’t call me a sap.”

Sorey let himself fall back then, arms crossed behind his head. Mikleo watched him observe the stars, his eyes jumping from star to star. Sorey had tried to teach him their names once, and how to guide himself using the stars and their position in the sky. It hadn’t been too extensive a lesson; Mikleo couldn’t distinguish one star from the other, and none of the constellations in Mikleo’s books were visible from there.

But over the years they had created their own constellations, writing them down on paper to help Mikleo distinguish stars and memorize the places they led to. The smallest star in the Bull lead to Pendrago. The brightest one on the Mermaid lead to Ladylake.

The last star on the stem of The Apple was right above Camlann.

Mikleo leant down by Sorey’s side with a sigh, starlight reflected in his eyes. He knew Sorey was looking at him, not because he could see him, but because he could feel his intense gaze on the side of his head, burning through the veil and reaching Mikleo easily, begging him to turn his head.

But Mikleo’s head was full of the blue mages’ voices to think about what would happen if he were to look into Sorey’s eyes.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Sorey whispered, turning his body on the pelt so it curled by Mikleo’s arm, the usual distance still between them. “But you also don’t have to keep things to yourself. So just know that I’m here, okay?”

Mikleo smiled. It took him a second, but he soon mimicked Sorey’s position, letting his veil move away from his face as much as the pins that held it in place allowed it. “I know. Same thing goes for you, Sorey. I’ll always be here for you…”

Something fierce burned inside Mikleo’s chest as he said those words. He meant them. Sorey had once abandoned their home to stay by Mikleo’s side and this time…

This time, Mikleo would stay for Sorey.

“I know that Mikleo, you don’t have to say it so seriously!” Sorey laughed into his elbow, moving his head to rest his cheek on his own flexed arm a bit higher. “Maybe we don’t see each other as often as I would like, but I know you’re always here,” Sorey reached inside his _kamui_ then, pulling out into the open his crystal necklace. It projected shadows onto their skin with its warm light, pulsating warmth like a second heart. “This always reminds me, anyway.”

“Huh?”

“It always shines brighter when I’m near you,” Sorey said, rubbing his thumb over the glass. The chain was long enough for the necklace to rest easily in his hand between them. “Always gets warmer too.”

Mikleo reached forward, touching with gloved hands one of the sides of the amulet. Sorey’s thumb fell away from it, as if giving Mikleo the space he knew he needed. “I… didn’t know that.”

“I guessed it was due to being closer to the source of its magic,” explained Sorey with a smile, moving his eyes towards Mikleo. “But it also never goes off, no matter how far away we are! And to be honest… I like that! It really does remind me that you’re always there, helping me come back home.”

Something sharp twisted beneath Mikleo’s ribs, making him flinch. He was sure of his decision, he had promised himself he would stay… but apparently it wasn’t that easy. There would always be a part of Mikleo that would jump at the idea of failing the Academy, at failing at the one thing he had been born for.

Sorey didn’t miss the sudden change in Mikleo’s expression, closing his hand around the amulet so the only light that reached them was the light of Mikleo’s tiny lamp and the light of the stars. “Mikleo? What’s wro—?”

“Tell me about yesterday morning?” Mikleo rushed to ask, effectively cutting off Sorey’s worried question. He pushed himself up as he did so, sitting on the pelt and widening the space between them. “We didn’t get to talk about it yesterday.”

“Oh, right!” Sorey sat up as well, groaning softly under his breath, probably still sore from whatever training Captain Strelka had made him go through. He seemed more pained than usual, rubbing his calves with the palms of his hands. “Okay, so the thing is—“

Mikleo felt his eyes widen as he listened to Sorey’s tale of how Boris and he had sneaked into Gododdin with the aid of Sergei’s (totally not stolen) captain band, how they had been led into the cavern to look at the bodies, two with signs of bleeding out… and the third one with its melted skin, the _kamui_ made one with flesh and bones. Mikleo _knew_ Sorey was sugarcoating it; knew, by the way Sorey kept his eyes away and down as he spoke, that Sorey was keeping the worst of it from him. And a part of Mikleo hated that. He wanted Sorey to rely on him, and he couldn’t do that if he didn’t share his pain with him. Whatever Sorey had seen in that cavern had shaken Sorey in a way Mikleo could never understand.

And maybe… Maybe Sorey wasn’t just protecting him but also himself. Maybe he just couldn't repeat the horrors he had seen out loud.

When Sorey finished his tale, Mikleo was already deep in thought. Sorey had told him about Boris’ words on magic and human bodies, how that seemed to be the most plausible solution, and Mikleo agreed. He had seen Hellfire go wrong, years ago, the blood and the screams filling the room until an older mage pushed him out of the way and everything stopped. He hadn’t been the one to heal the knight, he just had been learning by his superior’s side, but the incident had been enough to scar him forever.

He hadn’t been able to think of the same thing happening to Sorey. His brain simply couldn’t do it.

“…Boris and I thought that—“ Sorey was saying then, finally looking at Mikleo from the corner of his eye. “—the only mage around the guards then had been the Seraph, so maybe she had something to do with it. But… well…”

“But she’s dead now,” Mikleo finished for him, looking to the distance. “So it doesn’t make sense for her to have killed them.”

“Mikleo… I know it’s not knights’ business but— What is the cause of the Seraph’s death? What happened to her?”

Mikleo sighed. “She was sick. Very sick. I ran into her one day, could barely keep herself up… There was even blood on her hands and lips. Her own blood.”

Sorey crossed his arms over his chest, thinking. “If she was that sick I doubt she could have killed them… right?”

“Mm…” Mikleo was deep in thought too, thinking back on that day. There had been fire in Symonne’s eyes that day outside of the workshop. She had been ill, yes, but never weak. Magic had pooled in her uncovered eyes, infinitely powerful.

“…You have the same expression as Boris right now.” Sorey commented, fully looking at him now.

Mikleo turned his head to frown at his friend. “What do you mean?”

“You have a theory… But you hate it too much to say it out loud.”

After a moment, Mikleo licked his lips and nodded, letting out a shaky breath through his lips. “This theory could get me killed, if someone heard me say it.”

“They could try,” Sorey murmured, low and menacing, his voice so grave that Mikleo’s eyes widened. When their gazes locked, Sorey’s eyes were so set that a chill went down Mikleo’s spine.

“…Seraph Symonne _could_ have killed those guards.” Mikleo said, voice low and meant only for Sorey’s ears. “She was ill, and her body weak, but… I don’t think her magic was. She was powerful enough even then to kill them. What I fail to see is… why.”

Looking away, Sorey drummed his fingers on his arm as he thought, brows furrowed. “…Do you think she could have killed them while protecting the king?”

Mikleo hadn’t looked away so he simply leaned closer, peering into his friend's downcast eyes. “Just tell me your theory, Sorey.”

“Well, things don’t add up perfectly but… I think we were right. I think someone infiltrated the Royal Guard, tried to assassinate the king— and things went wrong. Seraph Symonne tried to protect the king and killed the attackers… but since she was weak and frail she overexerted herself, and ended up dying as well,” Sorey moved a hand up so his fingers could curl on his chin, rubbing the skin. “But that doesn’t explain the third guard’s death—“

“She would have killed to protect the king,” Mikleo said after a second with a nod. “All of us would. And your theory also explains why the Earthpulse was so upset that night. If she was weak and reached into the Earthpulse impulsively to protect the King… She probably wasn’t able to give back what she had taken before her body collapsed. Still, I fail to see why hide the cause of death of the third knight…”

Sorey sighed, finally uncrossing his arms and leaning back on them with his head thrown back. “Same here. Who knows, maybe it wasn’t even Symonne! Maybe it was another mage—“

But Mikleo was already shaking his head. “Blue and green mages were all in the Meadow. And though a lesser ranked mage could kill someone with their magic, it wouldn’t be as horrible as you described. Whoever did it was powerful. Incredibly powerful.”

“…So, in the end—“ Sorey continued with a groan, flopping back down on the pelt. “We’re no closer to knowing what happened to those poor knights, huh?”

“I’m sorry, Sorey,” Mikleo said truthfully, lowering his head slightly. “They were your fellow knights, so I understand you wanting to know what happened to them.”

“Yeah… But I also want to make sure there’s no one dangerous in the Academy, Mikleo. I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you.”

Mikleo snorted, even if he could feel heat rising up his cheeks. “Welcome to my world. How do you think I feel when you go out there to fight? There’s only so much my amulets and wishes can do across the distance.”

“They do a lot,” Sorey replied with a smile and soft color in his cheeks. “I know they’re the only reason why I’ve come back home sometimes.”

Mikleo puffed. “If you weren’t such a lousy knight—“

“Hey! I’m the best knight ever and you know it!”

Sorey used one of the corners of the pelt to slap Mikleo in the thigh, fighting off a smirk to throw a fake glare at him. Mikleo returned the slap with the long sleeve of his coat, hitting him right on the shoulder as he hid his hand inside the fabric. The blows arose laughter from them both, throwing them back to days ago, maybe even weeks, to the last moment they had felt secure and happy without anything else weighing on their minds. Mikleo missed those times, times when he would only worry about the slight guilt he felt at breaking the rules to meet Sorey on the rooftop.

But things had changed and here he was now; turning his back on the King and the title of Seraph, refusing to give everything away like he had once promised to for the sake of the Kingdom.

Because he had fallen in love with the boy in the rooftop. With his childhood friend. At some point in his life Mikleo had decided there was nothing more important for him than Sorey, no matter how much he had tried to deny it.

And because of that, he would never be the mage he wanted to be.

“…Mikleo?” Sorey whispered softly, no doubt surprised at Mikleo’s sudden mood change. He had been laughing and smiling just until now, but his thoughts had made a shadow cross his features, crumbling the ease from just a second ago. Sorey slid closer over the pet, and although Mikleo’s first impulse was to move back, a small part of him wondered if there was any point in all of that anymore. “Come on, tell me what’s bothering you? Maybe I could help!”

“I doubt it,” Mikleo shook his head, keeping his eyes down. “This is my problem to face, not yours.”

Those words ended Sorey’s smile completely, making the corners of his mouth pull down and his eyes look away. Mikleo didn’t want to burden Sorey anymore and he was doing the exact opposite— Mikleo sighed softly, looking away as well.

“Mikleo…” Sorey started, finally turning back towards his friend. “I know mages like to keep their business away from knights, but you don’t have to do that with me. We aren’t like that, after all.”

He was right, Mikleo knew. And even if that wasn’t the case, this wasn’t Mikleo clinging to the mages’ tradition, not this time. It was simply Mikleo fighting to find the words to express what he was feeling. None of the things that came up to his mind seemed fitting.

So he blurted out the first thing that resembled an explanation, hands tightly gripping his own knees and heart beating wildly in his chest. “I spoke with the blue mages today.”

Sorey blinked after a second, relaxing his tense shoulders. “Oh! Yeah, you mentioned something about that last night, right?” He asked, and then his eyes clouded with worry, leaning forward a bit to peer into Mikleo’s eyes. “They… they didn’t scold you for anything, did they?”

“No,” Mikleo replied with a minute shake of his head. “Quite the contrary, actually… They asked me to take the blue test.”

“Wha— But Mikleo, that’s amazing! Woah, I can’t believe you’ll be a blue mage soon— Well I mean, I can! You’re so strong, of course you’d reach the highest rank. Man, this is so cool!”

A soft blush rushed up to Mikleo’s cheeks, a reaction to the warmth and happiness in Sorey’s voice as he praised him. He said it all easily, as if he had never had a doubt Mikleo could achieve something like this, and despite it all it made Mikleo feel proud as well—Proud of making Sorey proud.

But reality was completely different. This wasn’t an achievement; it was a bifurcation in the road of Mikleo’s life, and Mikleo was taking the path that no mage would ever choose.

“Sorey… They don’t just want me to become a blue mage.”

Something in Mikleo’s voice must had been enough to make Sorey’s excitement evaporate. Mikleo couldn’t guess what it had been — but Sorey reacted to it, letting his excitement fade into confusion, his body turning on the pelt so he was sitting on the side of his leg, facing Mikleo completely as Mikleo kept himself stubbornly facing ahead, not meeting Sorey’s eyes. He didn’t face Sorey out of guilt; it was hard to force himself when his mind screamed about failure, when his heart screamed about belonging. He couldn’t not feel guilt at his choice when his reasons were so… whimsical.

A mage who chose a single person over the whole kingdom wasn’t suited for the role of Seraph, after all.

“Mikleo, I don’t—“

“They want me to become the next Seraph, Sorey.”

The words fell between them like stones, bringing with them an oppressing silence where not even Sorey’s breathing could be heard. The wind seemed to stop, the sounds of the night muted by the weight of Mikleo’s words, and Mikleo couldn’t stop himself from looking at Sorey from the corner of his eye — Sorey, who looked pale and stricken in the moonlight as he mulled over Mikleo’s words, no doubt trying to understand what they meant, what they meant for them… So Mikleo once again rushed to explain, nails digging into the fabric of his _sumari._

“Apparently, the King was very impressed by me after what happened in the Meadow. The death of Seraph Symonne means we are at a disadvantage and we need another Seraph promptly, someone to guide us, to make sure we have all the means to defeat Kuba Empire, now that the war is getting worse… And—They want me to be it, Sorey. They want me to become the Seraph.”

Sorey took a long moment to reply. With his mouth pressed into a hard line, Sorey moved to sit straight, legs crossed underneath himself and hands slack in the space of his lap. His hair fell softly over his headband, obscuring his eyes and giving Mikleo the impression that Sorey was hiding himself, piling layer after layer of stones over his heart. And Mikleo hated that. He needed Sorey to speak up, to say _something—_

_‘Talk to me,’_ Mikleo begged him silently. _‘Please. Sorey, please—‘_

“…Of course they would,” Sorey said in the end, voice strained but not insincere. When he lifted his head finally, Mikleo’s heart squeezed in his chest at the sight of a sad smile disguised as a happy one. “I mean, you’re amazing, Mikleo! Of course they want you as their Seraph.”

“Sorey—“

“You’re going to be the best Seraph Glenwood has ever known, Mikleo.”

More than the words, it was the finality behind them—the certainty— that hurt Mikleo the most. Sorey really thought Mikleo would do it; that he would turn his back to the life of the Academy and leave, leave it all behind to become the King’s right hand.

Sorey couldn’t be more wrong.

“No, I’m not.”

“…What?”

“I refused to take the exam, and I’ll refuse again when they ask me a second time. I am not going to be the Seraph.”

Sorey went suddenly rigid, looking paler than before if it was possible. For a second, his hands spasmed as if they had been about to move, but Sorey kept them still on his lap even as he turned towards Mikleo, green eyes very wide and surprised. “But—Why not!? This… This is your dream, what you’ve been working so hard for…”

Mikleo bit the inside of his cheek. “You know what becoming the Seraph would imply, right? I would have to leave the Academy, travel with the King… I would never come back here unless the King wanted it so—“

“…You’ve always wanted to see beyond the Academy grounds,” Sorey said with another sad smile and a gentle shrug. “I know you. You’ll be happy traveling the world.”

“…But I have to protect you. You need my blessings, my amulets—“

“I’ll be fine without them,” Sorey replied, voice hard. “I…I’ll come back home even without them.”

There was a burning in Mikleo’s chest that made it hard for him to breathe. Mikleo suddenly craved to feel the weight of his mask over his features, the coverture it brought him. He wanted to hide away the feelings he knew were clear in his features and hide them from Sorey. “I would be leaving you.”

Sorey’s answer didn’t come immediately. A shaky sigh preceded them, coming deep from Sorey’s chest, and Mikleo’s own breathing stopped short for a second at the sight of Sorey’s eyes so full of light and sadness.

Mikleo wondered if Sorey would have wanted the chance to hide his feelings away as well.

“If it’s for the sake of your dream… I would let you.”

“After everything?” Mikleo asked, throat raw. “After giving up so much, after following me here and leaving Camlann… You’d be okay with me leaving just like that?”

“…It’s your dream,” Sorey said, almost forcing himself to. He wasn’t looking at Mikleo at all, suddenly very interested in the fur of their pelt. “You’ve worked so hard and I— I just—“

Mikleo observed him fight to find the right words. There was pain in Sorey’s features, as raw and as strong as Mikleo’s own… But then, why weren’t either of them speaking up about it. Why weren’t they saying what exactly it was hurting them?

Because they weren’t sure of what it was, Mikleo realized after a beat. Or, at least, that was his case. He didn’t know what hurt the most — was it Sorey’s easy acceptance of Mikleo’s departure? Was it the way Sorey spoke of it as if it was a fact, and not something Mikleo had a say on? Or was it the thing that was left unsaid, the thing that explained the pain and the longing and the heartbreak… but that Mikleo didn’t dare to speak out loud?

In the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the pain in his chest… and how to make it stop.

“You have your dreams and I have mine, Mikleo,” Sorey said, and the pain in Mikleo’s chest flared up. “I won’t let you turn your back on them for my sake.”

Mikleo nodded after a stagnant pause. Then his fingers reached forward, not towards Sorey and his warm side but towards his mask, lying peacefully by the lamp with the front facing up. His shaky hand moved it up and closer to himself, gently putting it up over his features and finally —finally— allowing Mikleo to breath a little bit easier.

He could feel Sorey’s hot stare on the side of his face, but Mikleo didn’t let it affect him. He had his mask on now, he was protected; behind it, he could feel whatever he wanted, express any emotion he needed, and no one had to know.

Not even Sorey.

“I don’t think you know the first thing about my dreams, Sorey,” Mikleo said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as weak as it did to Mikleo’s own ears. ‘ _Maybe not even I know a thing about them.’_

“Maybe. But I just want you to be happy, really,” Sorey replied, and something in his voice made Mikleo’s head snap up, mask angled towards Sorey so Mikleo could see him through the slits on the mask. “Within the Academy walls or out in the world… By my side or by the King’s… As long as you’re happy I’ll be alright with your decision.”

“…You’re an idiot,” Mikleo found himself saying. He wished he could punch his friend in that moment.

Next to him Sorey laughed, not a trace of happiness in the sound. “I am, aren’t I?”

They both turned to look to the horizon in complete silence. Mikleo wanted to get up and leave, get away from the tension and the pain that lingered in the air, but he couldn’t. He was… so tired. Tired of this feeling, of being hurt, of the fights… But this didn’t even feel like a fight. It felt like words left unsaid, like feelings left unspoken and heartbeats stuttering in their haste to fulfill the spaces left by the silences. Mikleo didn’t know if there was a word for those moments where you had the thing you wanted right at the tips of your fingers but you were too scared to reach forward, but he felt like that moment was exactly it. With Sorey by his side _hiding,_ and Mikleo refusing to look for him to bring him to the light—

Yeah. That was what it felt like.

Like a lost opportunity.

 

* * *

 

It was a few hours to sunrise when Mikleo scurried to a place where he knew he wouldn’t be found. The aviary, which occupied the whole top floor of one of the southern towers, wasn’t visited often by mages, but literally no one except Mikleo visited at night. The Academy didn’t even really _need_ an aviary in the first place — mages didn’t communicate with anyone outside of the grounds that wasn’t the King’s court, and even then it was only the blue mages that ever sent the letters neatly tied to the fastest birds.

But the knights of the Tower did need one, and more often than not it was the Captains who used the residing birds to communicate with other groups throughout Glenwood; the birds were the only reason why they could still know what was happening up in the north anymore.

Some of the birds even belonged to the knights, even if there weren’t many birds anymore. They were birds of prey, trained to spy enemies from the skies and carry over messages secretly from camp to camp in times of war. Mao —Sorey’s golden falcon— was one of those birds, probably better trained and more spoiled than any of the others, but Mikleo didn’t bother looking for him. He knew Mao never slept in the aviary, preferring instead to settle down for the night in the forest beyond the fence of the grounds, never losing sight of Sorey’s window.

No, Mao wasn’t the reason why Mikleo tiptoed into the aviary that night. He didn’t want to send any letters either — he hadn’t tried during his first days in the Academy, and he never would anymore. Instead, he stepped over piles of dirt and feathers towards the furthest corner, trying not to awaken the sleeping birds and not to bother the ones that followed his movements with curious eyes. The corner was almost hidden by the rest of the place, away from prying eyes that would never look there unless they were looking for it.

And there, shining under the faint light despite the rusty iron, was a birdcage hanging from a combed, elegant stand, the cage itself decorated with motifs of leaves and nature. Mikleo smiled at the sight, striding over a fallen over sack as he pursed his lips and let out a soft, whistling melody.

The melody was echoed back to him not even a second later.

The little echo was no one but the bird inside the iron birdcage, a small, fluffy creature that started to fly around the moment it caught sight of Mikleo, becoming nothing more than a blue blur. Mikleo’s smile grew, his feet quickly taking him to the cage and letting his fingers brush against the bars, peering inside. He had taken off his mask the moment he had stepped into the aviary —some of the birds didn’t trust the featureless look of the mages—, so Mikleo felt the soft wind its wings moved against his cheeks, rustling the ends of his veil softly.

Mikleo rushed to open the small door of the cage, muttering to the creature in a soft voice. “Yes, yes, I’m coming, don’t worry—“

The bird flew out like a blue bullet, brushing against Mikleo’s hair in some kind of greeting before soaring to the ceiling of the aviary, chirping happily as it did so. Mikleo laughed lowly, not worried about its quick flying around but keeping an eye on the other birds; his tiny friend tended to get loud when outside, and not all of the other birds were friendly when disturbed.

As the tiny thing stretched its wings, Mikleo rested his back against the windowsill by the cage, the back of his head against the cold glass. Outside, the light of the moon was starting to dim, losing brightness in the horizon as it prepared to sleep for the day. Not so far away, the Tower stood imposing, and for a split second Mikleo wondered if he would be able to see Sorey making his way back from the rooftop if he only looked—But he stopped himself before even turning.

Mikleo was trying not to think much about Sorey in that moment.

But it was hard. And it was even harder when his tiny winged friend came fluttering to his front, hovering above him until Mikleo put his hands out for it to rest on them. Its tiny claws dug into Mikleo’s skin, but they weren’t hard enough to break it. Still, Mikleo moved his hand so the bird could rest on the side of his index finger, its claws curling around it easily. With his free hand, Mikleo petted it softly, from the top of its head to the space between its tucked wings, and grinned.

“Hey, Love,” Mikleo cooed, using a voice that no one but that tiny bird had ever heard. Mikleo hadn’t even allowed Sorey to listen to him talk like that, but Mikleo couldn’t help himself. The bird was just too cute, pecking at his fingers softly as thanks for the petting. “I’m sorry it’s been so long. It’s been… a crazy week.”

The bird chirped, not bothered at all. Its feathers were all ruffled, some clouds of thick, whitish feathers sticking out from its longer blue feathers, as if it had been preening itself before Mikleo’s arrival. Mikleo made sure to remove them carefully with his fingers, letting them fall on the cage by his side.

“I needed some company, after tonight,” Mikleo continued explaining, moving his hand to scratch the bird’s chest, right where an angry red color stained the immaculate white of its front feathers. “So I came to see you. I hope you don’t mind, little one.”

The tiny creature fluttered up as Mikleo finished his sentence, circling a couple of times around Mikleo’s head before flying away to see if any of its peers were awake and willing to be bothered. Mikleo followed it with his eyes, still smiling; there were very few things that brought a smile to Mikleo’s face so quickly, and that bird was definitely one of them.

It had been Sorey who found it a couple of years ago, nothing more than a tiny ball in Sorey’s big hand. It had been its electric blue color what had grasped Sorey’s attention one afternoon after training, the setting sun making its feathers almost glint in a corner of the fields. But what had made Sorey take it to Mikleo quickly, with fear in his eyes, had been the blood coating her front, the color so deep Sorey couldn’t see where it was coming from.

It had taken them both a couple of minutes of intense looking to realize the red on its feathers wasn’t blood, but its natural coloring. The bird had its wings and back of a rich blue, like cobalt, with the underside of its face and chest white as snow. The white, however, was stained with red, as if it was injured, even if the skin underneath was completely fine and healthy.

“Maybe it’s not bleeding but it still has a broken wing!” Sorey had said, using his full puppy-eyed stare on Mikleo. “We can’t just abandon it!”

A Mikleo, who had been very, very weak. “…Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

Apparently, Sorey couldn’t keep the bird in his barrack because it wouldn’t be able to rest there with all the ruckus, and there was no way he could leave it with Mao, because the bigger bird seemed not to like the other much. So Mikleo had found himself smuggling the tiny thing into the aviary, quickly finding an old, abandoned birdcage and asking for a servant’s help to take care of it.

There was no explicit rule about having pets in the Academy, but it was an unspoken thing that the mages couldn’t have any distractions… such as pets. So he had been very grateful to have the servant’s help, and Mikleo had saved a couple of his prayers for that man over the years.

And somehow… Mikleo had found himself having a pet of his own.

“How’s Love?” Sorey had asked, having decided for himself on a name and gender for it. He was sure it was a girl, despite the fact that none of them were really sure about how to check.

“It—She’s fine,” Mikleo would reply, hiding a smile behind his hand. “She likes to be petted a lot, and she liked your snacks from the other day. Thank you.”

Sorey always looked extra happy after that. Mikleo knew he hadn’t forgotten about her, but lately Sorey barely asked about her; they both had many other important things to worry about now.

Mikleo sighed as he realized he had been thinking about Sorey again. Their night on the rooftop had ended… strangely. They hadn’t talked much after Mikleo had called him an idiot, and when they did, it had been vague attempts of conversation from Sorey and monosyllabic replies from Mikleo. Mikleo felt bad about it but Sorey’s reaction to his announcement stung too much; it was as if Sorey had already known this would happen and was… resigned. This wasn’t Sorey supporting him, it was just him being resigned about letting Mikleo go.

Mikleo guessed some part of him had thought—had _wanted_ Sorey to ask him to stay.

He should have known Sorey wouldn’t do that.

“Idiot…” Mikleo said out loud, both to Sorey and himself.

Love decided to descend in that moment, landing on Mikleo’s head and rubbing her face against the front of Mikleo’s hair, there where the veil didn’t cover him. As gently as she could, she started to preen his hair, grabbing locks of his hair and yanking delicately. It made Mikleo wince nonetheless, feeling the prickling pain travel through his scalp.

“Easy there,” Mikleo batted a hand around the bird, but she paid him no mind. “You’re gonna leave me bald!”

Instead of flying away, Love wiggled her way under the hem of the veil, turning around on top of Mikleo so the veil fell over her like a protective cloak, and stayed there. Mikleo sighed but let her be.

Sorey wasn’t the only one with a soft spot.

“…What should I do?” Mikleo wondered out loud, talking to the bird but at the same time pretending he wasn’t. “Should I… take the test? But how can I take it when my first thought isn’t for the kingdom?”

Love chirped helpfully, her tone a little bit mellower than before. Mikleo felt her settling under the veil, tucking her wings into herself.

“This is my fault,” Mikleo confessed, rubbing his cheek and closing his eyes. “I let it go so far… “ And he had. He had lied to himself for years, telling himself that the secret meetings with Sorey and furtive thoughts down in the baths meant nothing. That the way his heart beat fast and strong when thinking of his friend wasn’t as bad as throwing it all away—when it reality, it was.

Mikleo had failed in his duty the moment he hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Sorey in Camlann.

“But I could grow into my new role,” Mikleo continued speaking, the rustling of wings from the other birds and the creaking of rats running around the sacks of food the only accompaniments to his voice. “Maybe… It would be hard at first, but once I’m gone—“

_‘Once I’m away I will be able to concentrate on my duty…’_

He had the ability to do it, the power. Reaching into the Earthpulse was as easy for him as breathing; no matter where his journey with the King took him, Mikleo would be able to fulfill his duty as the Seraph. He would travel through Glenwood, helping to maintain the equilibrium of the world in ways he couldn’t now…

The idea seduced him. To grow into the mold that had been created for him, to do what he had been born for…

‘ _I want to show you the world, Mikleo! And one day I will—‘_

_'It’s like you’re always there with me, guiding me home—‘_

' _You look incredible tonight—‘_

A deep red coated Mikleo’s cheeks. No; there was nothing that made him feel more like he belonged like Sorey’s words.

Mikleo groaned softly into his hands.

Like he had said before, there really was no choice for him on this.

* * *

 

Mikleo didn’t sleep at all that night.

He ended up going back to his room an hour before sunrise, Love still hidden in his veil and her birdcage firmly grasped in his hand. He hadn’t meant to smuggle her into his room, but he hadn’t had the heart to leave her either; watching Love fly around helped Mikleo forget about the things he had to do, the words he’d had to say in the following days. The conflicted feelings in his heart always seemed to die down when he was able to run his fingers through Love’s soft feathers.

But having what seemed to be a hyperactive bird in your room meant not sleeping, not even when you were so exhausted you could sleep on your feet. Love kept flying around her cage, rattling the bars in her excitement for the new environment. Not even the gauze that Mikleo had draped over the cage helped to calm her down.

He would have to take her back before nightly prayers. Mikleo didn’t think he would be able to handle another sleepless night.

The knock on his door came just as Mikleo was getting up to his feet, a fresh _sumari_ just slipped over his head. He grunted a ‘ _one second, please,’_ as he reached for his veil— but the door swung open nonetheless, making Mikleo jump and Love peep in surprise in her cage.

Mikleo screamed. Not in surprise but fury; whoever had entered in his room hadn’t respected his wishes, and Mikleo was found maskless and without his veil in the middle of his room, hair a mess and cheeks flared in anger. He turned towards the door with not-so-nice words already on his tongue, eyes flashing blue—

The King was at Mikleo’s door.

The King, with his dark colors and fair hair, his trimmed beard and gentle eyes that looked at Mikleo with a mixture of surprise and amusement. Mikleo froze, body completely rigid and jaw hanging open as the King stepped inside, his purple cape trailing after him with a soft, heavy sound.

“Forgive me, Lord Mikleo,” the King spoke softly, gently, nothing but amusement in his eyes now. “I did not hear a reply when I knocked on the door.”

‘ _Then you should have waited outside,’_ was Mikleo’s first thought, his exhaustion and his heart still beating furiously in his chest turning his inner voice bold. But then he blushed when he realized who was standing in front of him, and chastised himself for even thinking so harshly towards the King.

“…It is all right, your majesty,” Mikleo replied after a small pause, lowering his head into a bow. “I was just… startled—“

“Once again, forgive me, Lord Mikleo,” the King says, and his voice sounds so apologetic that Mikleo felt bad for even getting upset in the first place. “I forgot my manners in my haste to speak with you.”

“Haste?” Mikleo frowned, lowering his hands to his sides, veil hanging limply from his hand. “Your majesty, is something wrong?”

The King didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he closed the door behind himself, the softest _click_ filling the silence in the room before the King stepped further inside. With the King’s back turned towards him, Mikleo took the chance to make his appearance a bit more proper, willing his hair to look less like a cloud with his occupied hand and reaching forward to his mask with the other—

“Please, that is not necessary,” the King suddenly said, and Mikleo looked up to find him looking back at him, hand raised in mid-air as if to stop Mikleo from putting the mask over his face. “I would like for us to have an equal conversation here, Lord Mikleo.”

“I…” Mikleo sent a look towards his mask, almost yearning to put it on. “I am not sure—“

“Let me say it with a little more honesty, then—“ The king added with a soft, polite smile. “I came here today to ask something of you, Lord Mikleo. And I would like to see your expression when you give me an answer.”

Mikleo froze. He could feel his own nails digging into his palm, through the soft material of his veil. Still he forced himself to look calm and composed; if he didn’t have the aid of his physical mask, he would have to school his features into a figurative one. “As you wish, your majesty.”

Instead of immediately replying, the King moved to Mikleo’s desk, not touching anything but observing it all with meticulous eyes. Mikleo watched him look over the broken pieces of leather and thread from his latest creation, the small stones that Mikleo had been too tired to put it away the night before. It was a small blessing that Mikleo _had_ managed to hide Sorey’s toolkit before giving up on making anything else, but that didn’t stop Mikleo’s heart from speeding up, as if it was sure the King would be able to notice something by the disarray in his desk.

But the King said nothing about the unfinished amulets. Instead, his eyes jumped to the covered birdcage, a bushy, blond eyebrow rising when Love chirped from behind the gauze. Mikleo had to bit down on his tongue to stop himself from explaining without being prompted, but he had to do _something, anything—_

With a swift movement, the King lifted the gauze from the birdcage and watched Love observe him back, her small wings fluttering as if in greeting.

She clearly didn’t understand the trouble they were in.

“…A beautiful specimen, if rather small,” the King commented to Mikleo’s astonishment, which only grew when King Heldalf smiled at Love softly. “Is it yours?”

“I—Yes, my King,” Mikleo said. “She’s mine.”

“You do not see Bleeding hearts like this around Pendrago, though,” the King went on, never once taking his eyes away from Love. “They usually prefer the warmer temperatures of the South.”

“She was hurt when I found her, and very young. Bleeding hearts like her travel from North to South before the early months of winter even begin. I always thought she got separated from her flock on their way to the South.”

The King smiled, tapping a strong finger against one of the bars on Love’s cage. “You are smart, Lord Mikleo. I see Lord Uno did not exaggerate with his praise.”

“I…It is nothing compared to your knowledge, my King. You recognized her breed the moment you saw her. It took us months of research before we even got close to discovering what breed she was.”

“When you have lived as long as I have, my Lord,” the King spoke softly, looking at Mikleo from the corner of his eyes. For the first time since his arrival at the Academy, Mikleo was very aware of all the experience that accumulated behind the rich color of the King’s eyes. “You have to learn the smallest things to keep your mind entertained. It is through learning that one keeps himself motivated to live.”

His words fell on Mikleo like heavy stones. It was true, that; if Mikleo hadn’t had the books in the Academy’s library, if he hadn’t had Sorey to teach him about the outside world— what would have been of Mikleo?

‘ _Maybe I would be a better mage than what I am right now,’_ He found himself thinking, and once again, he yearned for his mask and the darkness behind it.

But a world without Sorey— A life without his laughter and silly antics, a life without his warmth—

Maybe Mikleo’s mind and body rejected the idea of failing the kingdom.

But it was Mikleo’s heart that rejected the idea of leaving Sorey.

“May I?” The King suddenly asked, bringing Mikleo back to the present. He had a hand softly touching the bolt on Love’s cage, asking in that way if he could open the door. Mikleo nodded, clearing his throat softly as if to hide the thoughts he had just had; as if he had to physically push them back down his throat to prevent them from spilling out.

“Please, your majesty,”

With all delicacy in the world, King Heldalf opened the door to the birdcage and let his palm slide inside, palm up and ready for Love if she only wished to have it. Mikleo observed, absorbed, as Love tilted her head to the side as if wondering what that thing in her home was— and then push the front of her head softly against the King’s fingers, once, twice, before happily fluttering on top of his cupped hand and chirping lovingly as he pulled her out of the birdcage.

“…Beautiful and charming,” the King whispered, moving his free hand to brush the knuckle of his index finger against the red spot on Love’s chest. “Just like its owner.”

There was no stopping the blush that coated Mikleo’s cheeks then. It was so rare to be praised with such boldness— In a world where personal traits didn’t exist, where masks were worn and tunics fell loosely over body shapes, there was no place for things like that.

But even if it was justified, even if Mikleo did want to hear such things from the King— there was a part of Mikleo that resented reacting to it so easily.

Probably the same part that kept showing him Sorey’s hurt face, and replying his voice when he had said ‘ _But I compliment you all the time—‘_

_‘Stop thinking about Sorey, damn it—‘_

“Your majesty,” Mikleo suddenly said, pulling himself from the fog in his mind. “Forgive my audacity, but I have to ask— Why did you come here today?”

A soft sigh escaped from the King’s mouth. Love decided that it was a good moment to fly away then, flying twice around the room before fluttering down to post herself on the perch at the top of her cage, beady eyes moving back and forth from the King to Mikleo, like an examiner.

“…I was hoping it would be obvious,” the King finally said, turning fully to face Mikleo. “After your conversation with the blue mages.”

Mikleo couldn’t hold the King’s gaze for long. Guilt and pain swirled in his chest like a furious whirlwind, all of them topped off by the need to protect Sorey and to stay with him. He looked away and gathered more of his veil’s fabric in his hand, making a wrinkled ball out of it.

“I already gave my answer to the blue mages, my King—“

“That is why I came here today, Lord Mikleo. I was hoping you would reconsider.”

Looking up, Mikleo found the King looking at him with the softest expression Mikleo had ever seen on his face. He had seen him looking regal and composed at his arrival, hiding his heartbreak behind a thin layer of protocol at the funeral, slightly surprised at seeing Love in Mikleo’s room. But the look he was giving Mikleo now was understanding and soft, as if he was willing to listen to any and all of Mikleo’s concerns, one by one, and reassure him. He didn’t look angry at Mikleo’s refusal, nor sad.

He just looked hopeful.

It made the knot on Mikleo’s throat tighten even more.

“I do not understand why, your majesty,” Mikleo went on, still not looking up. “There’s— There are others in the Academy that would accept to be your Seraph in the blink of an eye—“

“That is exactly why, Lord Mikleo. Others would think about themselves first, about the glory, about the status. But you showed me I was right when I thought you were special that first day I saw you during the parade. By refusing, you showed me I made the right choice when I chose you to be Symonne’s successor.”

Mikleo’s shoulders sagged. “I am not being modest, my King. It is with a heavy heart that I refused the blue mages’ offer the other day, but I did it because I thought— I believe in it to be the right choice. I will never be… the Seraph this kingdom needs me to be.”

“You are exactly what this kingdom needs,” the King went on. “Your superiors do nothing but assure me I could not have chosen better. Your magic is unparalleled at this moment. There is no one I would ask this to with such passion but you, Lord Mikleo.”

It was everything Mikleo had ever wanted to hear and more. To be recognized by the person that mattered the most in a mage’s word, to be _begged_ to like this, with no trace of fear or begrudge. It was what he had left Camlann for, the reason why he had stopped from hugging or even touching his best friend each time one or both of them had needed him to—

But it wasn’t enough. The happiness inspired by the King’s plea did nothing to soothe the pain at the fact that Sorey hadn’t asked him to stay. So he stayed silent, looking down at his feet.

And when Mikleo said nothing, the King looked at Mikleo levelly, not moving an inch closer. “If it is not modesty—what keeps you away from saying yes? Is it fear? Self-doubt?”

‘ _It’s trust,’_ Mikleo thought softly, feeling his eyelids close halfway. ‘ _It’s friendship, and warmth, and affection. It’s—“_

“I do not think I can give what this Kingdom needs, your majesty,” Mikleo said in the end, feeling the truth behind his words make his heart clench. _I can’t give away what isn’t mine anymore._ “And I do not think I ever will.”

The King sighed, rubbing his palm against the side of his face. His shoulders moved down then, as if he was finally letting go of a tension he had been keeping controlled under his skin. But when he finally moved his hand away there was an understanding look on his features, slightly hidden by loose strands of blond hair, and Mikleo felt himself relaxing too.

Somehow, he knew in that moment that the King understood.

“I wish everyone here were as noble as you are being right now, Lord Mikleo,” the King said, and Mikleo had to lower his head in a bow to hide the pain in his eyes. “I hear your honesty in your words, even if I do not share your sentiment. I think you would be the best Seraph I could ever hope to find. Please, know that I will always regret not being enough to make you change your mind.”

“Your majesty—“

“But I do understand. I understand your words and your feelings, so I will not ask again but this once. One more time, dearest Lord Mikleo, and I promise you will never have to face this question again.”

Mikleo nodded. He was ready. There was guilt and pain in his chest but no doubts. His place wasn’t by the King’s side; it was by Sorey’s. Even if nothing changed, even if this wouldn't be enough for Sorey one day, and he left to never return—Mikleo would stay, and pray for him. He would use every ounce of his magic to protect the kingdom, the King, and Sorey, like he had always done.

Maybe he wouldn’t live to his full potential. But living to protect the knight he loved wasn’t a bad goal either.

“Please, Lord Mikleo,” the King asked, hands clasped before him, and Mikleo met his gaze steadily for the first time since the King had entered the room. “Join me in the protection of our kingdom. I would be honored to have you as Glenwood’s Seraph, from now and forevermore.”

Mikleo’s heart skipped a beat, but he only felt the nightly air of the rooftop under his skin, and the warmth of Sorey’s hand at the tip of his fingers.

“I will always put my heart into protecting Glenwood, my King,” Mikleo promised, a heartfelt vow. “But I will not become a Seraph.”

The King looked at him for a long, long moment, before finally nodding. “Thank you for your honesty, Lord Mikleo.”

Mikleo winced, not caring to even try to hide it. “I am very sorry, your majesty—“

“Please, do not be. I appreciate what you have done for me—for us—today. I will always pray for your future here to be as happy as it can be.”

Mikleo felt his heart swell. “And I will always pray for your life to be twice as long as it has been until now, my King.”

With no hesitation whatsoever, the King crossed the small space that separated them and lifted a hand up, slow enough for Mikleo to move away. But Mikleo didn’t; he stood still, with his heart beating strong as the King replicated the soft caress from that very first day, just that this time there was no mask between them. The King brushed his fingers along Mikleo’s cheekbone, pushing the free strands of fair hair back with a knuckle as he stared sadly into Mikleo’s eyes.

“Beautiful and charming,” the King whispered again, but Mikleo didn’t react to it like last time. Mikleo had permitted the contact, but he hadn’t craved it. Not anymore. “I will not be forgetting you any time soon, Lord Mikleo.”

“Thank you, my King,” Mikleo replied, waiting still until the King’s hand slid away from his cheek.

When the King left, Mikleo let himself fall on his bed with a sigh, feeling all his anxiety melt away in a cold sweat over his skin. Beyond the walls of his room the morning bells started to chime, calling him to the Meadow, but Mikleo almost didn’t hear them. Instead, he listened intently to the sound of a captain knight shouting orders at their soldiers, the sound too soft for Mikleo to discern any meaning in the words.

And on top of her birdcage, Love regarded Mikleo with unusual stillness. But when the bells finished their ring and everything fell to silence once more, she batted her wings, rising into the air—and went back inside her cage without a sound.

No one would have had to close the door for her to remain inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want, you can follow me over on twitter @strikemika! I post about k&m from time to time and about sormik all the time!
> 
> Also make sure to follow nami @defragmentise for beautiful art!!


	10. Chapter 9: Now and forevermore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for the delay in this update!! It took far too long to write, both because of uni and own personal reasons. I'll do my best to have next chapter sooner, but in the meantime, here's chapter 10!!
> 
> Thank you so so much for every comment and kudos!!! I wish I had the time to reply to every single one of them, they really do warm my heart and motivate me to keep me going. So thank you so much!!
> 
> Okay, nothing else to add. Enjoy!! <3<3

 

There was blood everywhere.

The empty, white space around Sorey made a striking contrast against the deep red that sloshed against the sides of Sorey’s boots. The penetrating odor of iron sparked memories in the back of Sorey’s head, making him see other things, other places, for a slight moment. Memories of standing petrified in the middle of a battlefield at fourteen, his sword deep in a man’s chest and warm blood trickling down to his hands. Memories of himself kneeling by a fallen comrade’s side, pressing his own headband against their side in a vain attempt to keep the last of their strength from escaping their body.

But he had gone over those memories too many times for them to freeze him now. Sorey swallowed hard and started walking, his boots sticking to the quickly cooling blood with each step, the sound so sickening but so familiar.

He was alone. The pool of blood under his feet extended for miles before him, with no mountains, no trees to give Sorey any clue of where he was. There was no wind to rustle his clothes, no birdsongs, no sunlight. Only the vast whiteness, and the blood lapping at his covered ankles.

The blood was rising.

Sorey turned around, his brain urging him to find a source. Someone out there was bleeding themselves out. Someone out there needed Sorey’s help, and he had to find them before it was too late. Sorey opened his mouth to shout but his tongue tasted like the air smelt, and he found himself swallowing his scream down with bloodied saliva trailing down his throat.

Maybe there was no one out there.

Maybe it was Sorey himself the one bleeding out.

He palmed his torso over the layers of his _kamui_ , but he felt no pain. Not on his abdomen, not on his legs, not on his limbs. He was unharmed, but he could no longer see the tips of his boots over the blood; they had sunk beneath the red now, nothing more than a murky shadow below the surface. The blood was still flowing, silent and deep in its color.

Its warmth made Sorey want to gag.

Something crunched beneath his boot with his next step. Sorey looked down but so nothing more than red and the black of his boots. So he scooted down, hesitating only for a second before slowly thrusting his hand into the blood.

He lowered his hand low enough for his sleeve to get stained with red.

But he didn’t care, couldn’t care, when his fingers grasped whatever he had found between his feet. He knew what it was before even pulling it out. He had felt pieces like those digging into his skin in the past. He had even felt them _break_ against his skin, a small pop that had never hurt him beyond the sharp loss of a warm feeling in his chest.

Still, Sorey needed to see. So he pulled his hand out, thick blood dripping from his fingers as he opened his hand and inspected the beautifully broken pieces in his palm, feeling his heart clench tight in his chest. He had been right all along.

They were broken amulets.

All around him, beneath the blood, laid broken, empty amulets, their magic lost already. They were nothing more than trinkets now, pieces of glass and stones and braided leather, but Sorey still mourned their loss in a way that was almost surprisingly too painful. Broken amulets could mean so many things… and none of them were thoughts Sorey wanted to entertain.

He closed his hand over the broken shards of glass he had picked up, feeling pain flare up not only in his palm but in his heart.

Something awful had happened here.

Sorey needed and dreaded to know what.

“Sorey—“

The soft calling of his name made Sorey jump up and twist around sharply, legs making the thick blood around himself ripple. Or rather, it hadn’t been the calling but the _voice_ behind it, so familiar and so coated in pain that Sorey reacted to it before knowing what he was doing, hand opening to drop the bits of glass and reach for his sword. He would protect that voice. Whatever was making that voice sound so pained would find its end by Sorey’s hand.

But the sight before him made him stop dead even before touching the hilt.

Mikleo stood before him, amongst the blood and the white space. He was tense all over, his face obscured not by his usual mask, but by the dragon-shaped one he had been wearing during the king’s arrival. No veil clung from the horns but instead there were _flowers—_ flowers so white they looked like snow, melting against Mikleo’s hair and brushing against his cheeks. They moved when Mikleo’s jaw trembled, and Sorey gave one step forward towards his distressed friend…

Only to stop dead for a second time when he realized what Mikleo was wearing.

He was wearing the Seraph’s garments.

And they were stained with blood.

The lower hem of the tunic Sorey had only ever seen Seraph Symonne wear, that day during the parade, brushed against the surface of the blood, turning the purple fabric even darker. But the places where the blood pool didn’t reach were stained too: there was a long splatter of red crossing Mikleo’s chest, another over his left thigh, a third one, this one more of a red stain, covering his right shoulder. There were no tears on the fabric but Sorey still had no doubt the blood came from Mikleo, somehow.

Sorey was already running towards him before Mikleo could call his name again.

He stopped in front of him with a gurgle from the thick liquid under his feet. Mikleo hesitated for a second before looking up, his naked hands gripping tight the sides of his Seraph tunic. He looked paler than Sorey had ever seen him, dark shadows under his eyes.

His eyes were bluer than ever, all violet drowned by the new color—and a sea of tears.

“Mikleo…” Sorey whispered, reaching forward to touch Mikleo but never getting to do so. His fingers stopped shy of touching Mikleo’s tense knuckles. “Mikleo, what happened…?”

“…It’s gone,” Mikleo replied, shaking his head. The flowers in his mask shook, but none of them fell. “It’s gone—“

Sorey frowned. “What is, Mikleo?”

“ _Everything,”_ Mikleo said, desperation making his voice deep. “It’s gone, it’s all gone, and even you… _You,_ Sorey—“

“I’m right here,” Sorey gave one step forward as he spoke, getting closer to Mikleo’s shaky form. “And I always will. No matter where you go, no matter what you chose—“ He felt the words to be true, coming from the very depth of his heart. Even if Mikleo chose to be a Seraph, Sorey would never consider himself to be out of Mikleo’s life. He would always, _always_ be there for Mikleo. “Mikleo, I’ll always be there when you need me, because I—“

‘ _Because I love you,’_ Sorey wanted to say. But the taste of blood was back on his mouth, almost choking him, and the words died at the tip of Sorey’s tongue even if Sorey had been ready to let them out in the open.

Mikleo didn’t seem to be listening. He was too busy clinging to his own clothes, hands moving over his own body, fingers gripping his chest. Sorey watched, horrified, as the dark stain over his shoulder grew, staining the fabric over his left side.

Mikleo was bleeding.

“Mikleo!”

Sorey rushed forward, hands in front of him to reach for Mikleo. He wasn’t thinking about the movement; he just thought about Mikleo slowly bleeding in front of him, the look of fear in his eyes, the desperation. He needed to get to him, to hold him in his arms—

But the second Sorey’s hands closed around Mikleo’s body the flowers in his horns started to move, to flutter. Just, they weren’t flowers anymore, they never had been; they were _butterflies_ , striking white and fast like snowflakes in a storm. They moved around Mikleo in a whirlwind, pushing him away from Sorey’s touch, swallowing him whole. They covered the red stains of his clothes, his shaky hands, his bloody feet… Sorey stood petrified as even Mikleo’s face was covered by them, the look in his eyes the last thing he saw before he disappeared completely from Sorey’s sight, and from the space before him.

Sorey saw a red glint in them before the butterflies swallowed him whole, and Mikleo was gone.

“No!”

The moment Sorey tried to reach for the butterflies again, hands looking for a Mikleo that was no longer there, the butterflies turned towards him. They surrounded him in the blink of an eye, nothing more than fast blurs in Sorey’s sight. They fluttered around him, resting against his _kamui_ , his skin, and their wings pierced through it all like blades, sharp and deadly enough to tear through the armor that covered Sorey’s skin. Sorey felt his blood slide down his skin but there was no pain; only the thunderous beating of the butterflies’ wings in his ears and Mikleo’s name on his tongue—

_Mikleo—!_

“—rey. Sorey!”

Sorey woke up with a start, not knowing where he was. Sunlight was strong against his eyes, making him squint, and the low sounds of blades meeting reached his ears like a familiar song. And, on his shoulder, he could feel a warm weight grounding him, fingers pressing against his collarbone and demanding his attention.

There was no sight of blood. No sight of butterflies.

But also, no sight of Mikleo.

 _‘I need to see him,’_ Sorey’s heart chanted. ‘ _Please, please, I need—‘_

“Oi, Sorey, I’m here you know! Don’t have to pretend you can’t see me!”

Sorey turned his head towards the source of the voice, the owner of the hand on his shoulder. It was Mason, squatting by his side, his red hair catching the rays of the sun. He wore an amicable smile on his mouth but his eyes seemed worried; Mason had never been one to hide his emotions very well.

“I’m—“ Sorey started to say, but the memories were coming back to him. He hadn’t slept much for two nights straight, since seeing Mikleo on the rooftop. He saw Mikleo’s expression every time he closed his eyes, saw his quavering mouth as he told Sorey about the blue mages’ offer. Sorey hadn’t understood Mikleo in that moment, and that had hurt more than anything else. Because he had always known it would happen at some point, that Mikleo would reach his goals and leave the Academy.

Of course he would. Mikleo was amazing like that.

But not understanding Mikleo’s look— As if it had been him suffering, him the one to feel like his heart was breaking in two. After how Sorey had behaved the day of the parade he had wanted to be supportive. To smile at him and do nothing but… be his friend. But it had looked like all Sorey had done in that rooftop had been hurt Mikleo with each word.

Why—?

“Okay, now I’m starting to worry. Can you stop ignoring me and tell me what’s going on?”

Sorey felt a bit guilty about that. He _had_ forgotten Mason was by his side.

“Sorry, Mase,” Sorey muttered, rubbing the heel of his hand against his left eyebrow. There was a faint pain behind his eye, shooting upwards with enough strength to be annoying. “I haven’t been sleeping very well lately.”

“…We can tell,” Mason replied, letting himself fall sat by Sorey’s side. Sorey had been napping against a tree in the fields, sitting by its shade. “I think even Captain Maltran knows something’s up with you. She definitely saw you here but didn’t do anything to wake you up…”

Sorey looked towards the training fields were his brothers and sisters were training, and where the sounds of battling came from. He spotted Maltran walking around pairs of knights, her eyes fast on their movements, quickly giving indications when she thought them appropriate. It was hard to believe the usually stoic captain would allow Sorey to skip training— but then her eyes did look towards where Sorey and Mason sat, and she met Sorey’s eyes before going back to her knights, as if she hadn’t seen a thing.

A wave of gratitude towards his captain filled Sorey’s chest. He would work extra hard during his next training with her as thanks.

“I’ll admit, though, I’m surprised. You’ve never skipped training like this. Not even that time when you were burning up and you almost impaled Lucas’ shoulder with a stray arrow.”

“I hadn’t planned on sleeping, really. I just… needed to close my eyes for a second.”

There were many things Sorey could withstand. Days without food, a bleeding wound in the brink of infection, a week without any sleep… His body was trained to work through all those things, strong enough to even allow Sorey to continue fighting for his life if it was needed.

But the idea of losing Mikleo was different. It didn’t put a strain in his body but in his mind. In his soul. Sorey couldn’t stop thinking about how Mikleo could say yes to the king at any moment now; couldn’t stop thinking about a night coming when he would go up to the rooftop even though he knew Mikleo wouldn’t be there. And he would wait and wait, his pelt too big for only himself, and Mikleo would never come.

Because he would be long gone, and Sorey would have said goodbye to him with his realest fake smile and his heart broken in half.

Mason bumped his shoulder against his and kept it there, grounding Sorey to the present. “You know…” He started to say, voice low. His sword laid over his leg and Mason was running his index finger over the edge of the blade, up and down, up and down, slow like a caress. “It’s no secret that you trust Boris the most. And it’s fine!” Mason added when Sorey rushed to say something against it. “It’s fine, Sorey. But I hope you know we _all_ care about you, even if our surname isn’t Strelka. So rely on us, if you need to.”

Sorey pressed his knees against his chest, his arms around his legs. The wave of gratitude he felt now was for Mason, warm and vibrant as Mason’s own hair. It was true that Sorey tended to rely on the twins more often than in the others, but that didn’t mean he didn’t trust the rest of his friends in the barrack.

It only meant that it was easier to rely on someone when that person knew all the details.

But Mason’s arm was warm against his, his smile encouraging and honest, and Sorey… Sorey needed someone to tell him if it was okay to have his heart broken over this.

If he even had any right to feel like this.

“There is… someone,” Sorey whispered in the end, voice barely audible, the way it always sounded when he spoke of matters related to Mikleo. “Someone I’m very scared to lose.”

‘ _Enough to even dream about it,’_ Sorey thought but didn’t say out loud. He could still feel the sharp wings of the butterflies against his cheeks, the blood trickling down his skin.

“—A knight?” Mason wondered, eyes flying briefly towards the training grounds.

Sorey shook his head, not looking at Mason. “No.”

“…I see.” Mason straightened his back and leaned back, against the base of Sorey’s tree. He made sure his shoulder never lost contact with Sorey’s own. “And why do you think you’re gonna lose them?”

“Because he finally got offered what he’s worked so hard for,” Sorey explained, and the truth behind his words made him almost choke. It was so hard, to feel so pained and so proud over Mikleo’s achievement at the same time… “What he’s given up so much for. And I know he will say yes, in the end.”

“I’m sorry, Sorey,” Mason said, fingers stilling on his blade. “It’s never easy to say goodbye to someone important.”

“No…” Sorey looked down to his lap, but his hand flew up to his neck so his fingers could curl around Mikleo’s necklace. It felt warm like always, but it didn’t bring Sorey the comfort he sought. “It’s not.”

“Are you sure there’s no way he will reconsider…? No chance of him not leaving?”

“…He said he was going to refuse. But I know him. There’s nothing more important to him than his duty,” Sorey sighed, leaning his head against the bark and sighing. “And I feel awful for… hoping, wanting, for that to not be true.”

Mason sighed as well, a puff of white smoke escaping his mouth. It wasn’t a day to be napping outside, but Mikleo’s amulet kept Sorey completely warm and cozy under his armor. Mason, on the other hand, kept pushing his hands in between his thighs to keep them warm, wiggling softly in his spot to create friction. Sorey felt bad for keeping Mason away from the others; he would be feeling warm if he were exercising as well.

“So…” Mason started, eyes on the slowly graying sky overhead. “You’re like this because someone very important to you is leaving and you don’t want him to… But also because they told you they’re going to refuse and you feel bad about that?”

“I…” Sorey blinked, looking down to his knees. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Mason hummed lowly, knees swaying from side to side. His hands, still deep between his thighs, drummed against the pieces of armor that covered his skin a melody that Sorey did not recognize. “You know what I think?”

“What?” Sorey inquired.

“That for someone so freaking smart like you, you really can be an idiot sometimes.”

“—What, why!?”

“Because you’re not giving me much information and I still know how things went down!” Mason exclaimed, turning his head to look at Sorey. “He told you about this— thing, told you he was going to refuse to stay here, and you probably tried to convince him to leave. Am I wrong?”

His heart skipping a beat, Sorey felt his mouth dry like parchment. Mason had struck bulls-eye. “I… No. You’re not wrong.”

“Ugh, duuuuuuck. Don’t be so fucking selfless all the time.”

“How is this being selfless? I’m keeping him away from what he’s always wanted!”

“Okay, now stop being selfless _and_ egocentric,” Mason rolled his eyes, bumping Sorey’s shoulder extra hard that time. “It’s not like you threw yourself at his feet and begged him to stay, did you?”

Sorey blushed and shook his head. “Of course not!”

A stagnant pause followed Sorey’s words. Sorey had the thought that probably Mason was giving him time to mull over everything, to rethink things, but truth was… Sorey didn’t know what was there to rethink. Mikleo had wanted to return the same thing Sorey had done back when they had been kids, and that was it.

Mikleo didn’t have to do that.

Because even back then, both of them so young and so scared, Sorey had known that his life wouldn’t be complete without Mikleo.

His memories had pulled him away from the present again, to the point where he had been back in Camlann for a moment, his tiny hands clinging to Mikleo’s clothes and his eyes begging for the scary mage not to take Mikleo away.

Oh, how he wished things were that simple again.

But the soft knocking of knuckles against the side of his head made Sorey jump softly. When he turned his head, Sorey found Mason looking at him with a gentle smile, no trace of teasing in the crease of his mouth. It made Sorey’s shoulders relax suddenly, abruptly, as if he hadn’t known how tense he had been until that moment.

Sorey found himself smiling back at Mason easily.

“…Can you keep a secret, duck?” Mason asked then, softly, lowering his hand back to his side. His sword had fallen to rest in the space beneath his legs, and his hand found it easily. It was as if touching the iron of the blade helped Mason concentrate. “A big secret?”

“Yes,” Sorey replied without vacillation. He was _very_ used to keeping secrets.

“…I’m going to leave the Tower soon, Sorey.”

“W-what?” A cold sweat went down Sorey’s spine; the Tower would never be the same without Mason in it. He was family, after all. “Why? When?”

“I’m not too sure. Soon, though,” Mason said, moving his eyes away. The sun had finally hidden behind some dark clouds but Mason’s hair was as bright as ever, gently swaying in the winter breeze. “I wasn’t going to tell you guys anything until things were a little bit more settled, but… I feel like this will help you clear your head a bit.”

Sorey frowned, heart still aching for Mason’s confession. “How?”

“You know, Sorey, sometimes, when we have to take a difficult decision, we have to weigh things in a balance. Look at the pros and the cons, decide which choice will be the best one in the end.

“But other times, there’s no weighing things up. Sometimes, there’s not even a choice. You think the path of your life is paved, that there’s nothing that can make you trip as long as you don’t deviate— and then someone comes with a hammer and breaks the cobbles into tiny little pieces. And that was Natalie for me.”

“…You’re leaving because of Natalie?”

Mason hummed softly, closing his eyes. “For Natalie. For myself. For our future, really,” Mason opened his eyes then, gaze moving idly to the knights training a little further away. “We’ve talked a lot about what we want from the future. And we came to realize we both want things… that we could never have if I were to stay here as a knight. Don’t get me wrong, Sorey, I love it here. I would die for any of you, for this kingdom, in an instant. But… Like I said, there is really no choice for me. Even if I don’t know how things will be tomorrow, I still want the chance of a future with Natalie. And I’m willing to look away from something I’ve worked hard for, for it.”

Mason moved his eyes away from the knights to look at Sorey again, gaze set. There was no trace of doubt behind his voice, behind his eyes. Only a faint sadness over leaving his family, and that was it.

But that sadness wasn’t enough to make him change his mind. It was a sadness that would go away as soon as he was in Natalie’s arms again.

“And I’m sure it’s the same for your person, Sorey,” Mason continued, reaching a hand forward to tap with his index finger the glowing necklace that rested against Sorey’s chest. “If they’re so important to you, believe in them and in the choice they’re making. If not… You’ll only end up hurting both of you, if you don’t.”

Sorey felt his heart skip another beat as he looked down to his knees one last time. Trust in Mikleo’s decision… There was nothing else he wanted to do more.

“I can do that… But Mason, Mik— _we_ are not like you and Natalie. So I don’t know—“

“Of course you are not like me and Natalie. We are we and you are you,” Mason sheathed his sword and moved to his knees then, looking down at Sorey with a cheeky smile and a twinkle in his eyes. “But, well… The same way I’m leaving for a chance with Natalie… Maybe your boy is staying for the same reason, with you.”

Something warm, that had nothing to do with the magic in the necklace, spread through Sorey’s body until no piece of him felt anything but that warmth. Sorey’s hand flew to his chest and clothed the fabric of his _kamui_ , as if he could keep the feeling in him for longer that way. He wanted to believe in Mason’s words so badly, wanted them to be true—

‘ _Mikleo,’_ Sorey called, looking inside himself for that spark that always let him know Mikleo was somewhere nearby, in the Academy. The moment he found it, the warmth spread even further, shining brighter than a flame. ‘ _Are you really going to stay with me…?’_

Of course, there was no reply to Sorey’s question. But Sorey thought he heard the echo of something from deep in his chest, not a word but… a song.

The happy chirp of a bird, maybe.

“Thank you, Mason,” Sorey said with his voice full of emotion, letting his hand fall away from his own chest and opening his eyes. He hadn’t realized he had closed them. “Really. I… I’m feeling a lot better now.”

And he was. Sorey felt like he could breathe easier now. Like the guilt had dissipated into the cold winter air.

Mason thrusted a hand forward in the space between their bodies, a closed fist for Sorey to bump, which he did. “Anytime, duck. But I think we should go back now. It looks like we’ve played enough with Maltran’s patience for the day.”

With a quick glance back towards his companions, Sorey realized that he was right. The captain seemed ready to shout at them at any moment so Sorey jumped up to his feet, stretching his muscles as discreetly as he could while Mason followed him up. Together, they sprinted back towards the rest of the knights, who were preparing themselves for one hundred laps around the grounds.

“I am sorry, Captain Maltran,” Sorey apologized with a bow before the captain. From the corner of his eye, Sorey saw Mason scurrying away, into the mass of knights by their left.

Maltran looked up from her board to look at Sorey from the corner of her eye. Her captain band glinted softly even under the stormy clouds. “Five more laps as a penalty for skipping training, Sorey. And you better not complain.”

Sorey fought hard to squish down a smile. Five more laps were nothing, not a punishment at all. It was surprising to discover that Maltran had a soft side beneath her armor. “Of course not, captain. Thank you very much.”

Not even a minute later, Sorey was running with his barrack in a steady rhythm. He caught up with them after a sprint, halfway through their first lap around the grounds and while they were in the middle of a conversation. Boris, who was merely listening and not joining in, moved a bit to the left when Sorey arrived to let him into the group.

“Everything okay, duck?” Boris asked, hiding a bit of concern behind a smile.

But Sorey smiled brightly at him. “Yeah. Sorry to have worried you guys.”

Up on the front, Lucas snorted. “Next time you decide to take a nap mid-training I might join you. Now that we know Maltran won’t ask for my balls afterwards.”

“Forget it, Lucas,” Mason added while Kyme and Boris laughed loudly. “You’re nowhere near as cute as our duckling here. Maltran _will_ ask for your balls and then she’ll make you eat them while she watches.”

“Man, not this favoritism bull crap again!”

This time, Sorey joined when his brothers’ laughed again, truly feeling better for the first time since the last night up on the rooftop.

He could still hear the happy chirp of a bird at the back of his head, giving him the strength he needed to run with his barrack.

 

* * *

 

Sundown caught Sorey sitting on the windowsill, a piece of paper on his thigh and Mao observing him quietly from his perch on Sorey’s bed. His quill —one of Mao’s golden feathers— hovered over the paper, shaking softly with Sorey’s indecision, a drop of ink falling and staining one of the corners. But Sorey paid it no mind; he was too busy biting down on his lip, his other leg bumping against the outside of the Tower as he thought.

So deep in thought he was, that Sorey didn’t notice Boris peeking over his shoulder, chin almost grazing the top of Sorey’s head. “Writing to Mikleo?”

Sorey’s hand stilled. He didn’t turn to look at Boris but he acknowledged Boris’ question with a sigh, finally letting his quill fall away from the paper. They were alone in the room, so Sorey felt no fear of speaking his mind. “He was too busy to meet last night. I wanted to make sure we were still on for today.”

Even without looking, Sorey knew Boris was frowning. “But don’t you usually send him always the same message?”

Sorey shrugged. He did. Every night, he sent Mikleo the same message, and more times than not Mikleo never replied, a silent agreement. But, well… Everything that had happened lately, all the tense silences and weird feelings had made Sorey sit down on the windowsill of his barrack and hesitate when he had been about to write.

Because he could say a lot with his paper and quill. He could probably explain to Mikleo everything he felt, every confusing feeling, much better than how he would do it if they were face to face. His talk with Mason in the morning had done wonders to Sorey’s mind, easing his fears… But he still felt like Mikleo deserved something. An explanation, maybe. Or even an apology.

A heavy hand fell on his head, ruffling his hair. “…You feel better after your talk with Mason, don’t you? At least, he said you were.”

“You talked to Mase?” Sorey asked back, finally looking over his shoulder to look at his brother with a frown. Mason had said he wasn’t going to tell the others about—

“You skipped training, duck,” Boris said, as if that explained everything. He rubbed Sorey’s scalp with his knuckles. “I was worried.”

 _Oh…_ “Sorry, Boris.”

“Meh, no harm done. I just hope—“

“This conversation is over, Captain Maltran. I won’t change my mind on this.”

Both Sorey and Boris jumped at the sound of that familiar voice reaching them from afar. They looked at each other, and then they both scrambled to look out of the window, making sure to keep themselves silent as they looked down.

Their barrack was pretty high up in the Tower, but still neither of them had any doubt of who they were spying on. Sergei and Maltran were standing apart right beneath their window, not thinking it necessary to keep their voice down. They seemed tense and upset, or at least Maltran did. From their window, neither Sorey nor Boris could see Sergei’s expression, whose back was to them. They could only see the tense line of his back, the way the sling forced his broken arm against his chest.

Sorey’s eyebrows shot up, surprised. He had never heard Sergei speak like that to Maltran before.

“You know I can do it,” Maltran was saying then, face cold as she shot daggers at Sergei with her eyes. “Let _me_ go instead—“

“Believe me when I say I have no doubts about your abilities, Maltran,” Sergei replied, seriousness dripping from every word. “But you and I both know this… isn’t going to end well. The Tower needs you here to train the next generation of knights. I wouldn’t trust them to anyone but you.”

Maltran sighed, faced pained. There was stress clinging to the corners of her mouth and eyes, but her shoulders were set. Something in Sergei’s words had made her step down from whatever edge she had been about to jump from. “I hope you know this is absolute madness.”

When he spoke next, it sounded like Sergei was smiling, even if the tone of his voice leaned more towards ‘sad’. “I’ve done everything I could to prevent this, believe me. But—it wasn’t enough.”

Sorey clung to the windowsill with shaky fingers. ‘Prevent’? ‘Madness’? What where those two talking about—?

Maltran gave a step back. Reluctantly, her right fist rose to rest right over her heart, arm straight, and a cold sweat ran down Sorey’s spine as he watched her instructor dedicate Sergei a grim look.

She looked angry.

And sad.

“Captain Strelka, I—“

“Save your goodbyes for when I can no longer hear them, Captain Maltran,” Sergei said not without gentleness, his voice so soft Sorey almost couldn’t hear it. “You know I don’t do well with them.”

A curt nod was the only reply Maltran gave to that. Her arm fell to her side as she relaxed her posture. She was back to the captain Sorey knew, the one he had met in Camlann all of those years ago. “You can count on me to protect our home.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Nothing else was said. Sergei walked away after a nod, his steps hurried as if he had somewhere else to be. Maltran didn’t stay for long either; her stoic features didn’t change as she turned around and walked in Sergei’s opposite direction, shoulders tense. And Sorey kept moving his eyes from one to the other, blinking, not understanding what he had just heard but feeling the weight of the conversation heavy on his heartstrings.

He could feel a bitter taste in the back of his throat. The prologue for something he would not like.

“What do you think they were talking about, Bo—Boris!?”

Sorey turned in time to see Boris running out of their barrack, the ends of his headband fluttering behind him. Sorey called him once again but his brother didn’t turn; instead, his footsteps grew fainter and fainter as he ran away, no doubt to try and catch Sergei before he was gone.

In the blink of an eye, Sorey was up on his feet and halfway to the door. But then, just as fast, he stopped abruptly and looked back to the paper and quill he had abandoned on the floor, forgotten on his haste to follow Boris. He had been thinking about writing to Mikleo earlier…

Mao flapped his wings. In the distance, Sorey heard the door to the stairway slam shut, breaking the silence.

And then Sorey turned his back to the fallen letter and started to run, letting his feet carry him outside and down the stairs as fast as he could go.

 

* * *

 

Sorey found Boris just as Boris found Sergei. They were in the lower levels of the Tower, where meetings were usually held. There were a few rooms ready to discuss strategies and battle plans, but Sorey found the other two beyond those doors, closer to the door to a small room that acted as an office, sometimes.

Boris had run to stand in front of his brother, cutting his path, but Sorey only advanced until he was standing between the both of them, looking from one to the other as he tried to assess the situation. Both men looked too tense to pretend nothing was going on, Sergei glancing from time to time at the door a little ways behind his brother.

“Where are you going, bro?” Boris asked, forcing his tone to sound too carefree, hands on his hips. “Early evening meetings?”

“Something like that,” Sergei replied, face hard, and alarm bells blasted inside Sorey’s head. He tried to sidestep Boris as he said: “So if you don’t mind—“

“Oh, I do mind,” Boris interrupted, moving to block Sergei once again. He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side to add more resistance to it. “And Maltran seemed to mind as well.”

Sergei held his ground for a moment longer — and then sighed, all tension leaving his body as the air escaped from his lips. “You heard us,” It wasn’t a question.

“What is going on, Sergei?” Boris gave one step forward, keeping his voice down as he stepped into his brother’s personal space. “I’ve never heard Maltran sound like that. And you can bet whatever has her sounding that way makes me want to shit my pants.”

“It… doesn’t matter right now,” Sergei said, raising a hand to rub at his forehead, underneath the captain band. “But I really do have a meeting right now, so you guys should—“

“Who do you have a meeting with?” Sorey asked, looking around. “And why couldn’t Maltran come with you…?”

“—Because he’s meeting with the King,” Boris interrupted him, arms falling to his sides and eyes opening wide. “You’re meeting with the King, aren’t you? Did he make a decision regarding the North? Is that why you told Maltran not to come—?”

“Wait, what?” Sorey jumped in as well, looking from Boris to Sergei fast enough to feel dizzy. “Is this about what you told us the other day? About sending—!?”

Sergei put his free hand on Sorey’s shoulder, making him fall quiet. He would have done the same with Boris had his arm been alright, but he didn’t even need to; Boris fell silent, lips pulled into a tight line as he bit the inside, forcing himself to stay still.

There was a seriousness in their eyes, as they looked at each other, that had Sorey feeling sick to his stomach.

There had never been so much tension between the three of them, and Sorey hated it.

“…Yes,” Sergei said in the end, hand still on Sorey’s shoulder. But now, his hand felt more like it was Sergei who needed the support, and not the other way around. He suddenly looked very, very tired. “Just this morning, the King decided to send a large troop to fight against the Kuba occupation in the North. He wants to secure Hellawes… If it hasn’t fallen already. We haven’t gotten any new messages from the north since before the King’s arrival.”

Boris shook his head. His hands were curled into tight fists at his sides, almost shaking with the way Boris was keeping his emotions in. “Stupid bastard…“

“Boris!” Sergei exclaimed. “This is your King you’re talking about. And if that’s not enough to stop you from saying things like that, he’s right behind that door over there—“

“My King would _never_ send his knights to certain death,” Boris snapped back, but making sure to keep his voice down at the same time. No matter how angry he was, he would never put his brothers in trouble like that. “I said it before and I say it now, I will not stand around while he sends us to our deaths just because he’s insecure.”

“I know,” Sergei sighed. “Neither won’t I. That’s why I need to go to this meeting…”

Sorey bit his lip. He trusted Sergei wholeheartedly, trusted him enough to walk blindfolded into battle if he said he’d be the one to guide him.

So it hurt when Sorey realized Sergei wasn’t telling all the truth.

“…You know there’s no convincing the King, don’t you?” Sorey muttered, moving his face so his eyes could meet Sergei’s. Sergei’s own opened in surprise for half a second, before they went back to normal; an indication of Sorey being right. “That’s why you told Maltran to wait here. If the King sends troops now, whomever he sends… They’ll fail. And you want Maltran to lead the knights from here when Kuba advances. That’s why you wanted her to stay.”

Both men looked at Sorey, one with surprised eyes, the other with a blush that screamed about being caught. Sorey’s shoulders fell under Sergei’s hand as the weight of his own words caught up to him. Sergei would go into battle with his broken arm and his unwavering faith, knowing he wouldn’t return. Knowing his knights were in safe hands back at home.

Sorey bit the inside of his cheek at the thought of what would have happened if Boris and he had never heard their conversation.

“I’m going in with you,” Boris said suddenly, not taking his eyes away from his twin brother as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Me too,” Sorey quickly added, eyes also on Sergei.

But Sergei pursed his lips, looking away and towards the door that waited for him, still closed, just past his brothers’ backs. “I can’t—“

“—Ask that of us?” Boris finished for him, one eyebrow raised. “We know.”

“That’s why you don’t have to say anything,” Sorey said with a smile, moving his hand to his own chest, fingers splayed over his heart. “We’re with you, Sergei.”

It took Sergei a long moment, a moment in which Sergei seemed like he would put on his stern face and send them back to their barrack. But then Sergei’s shoulders dropped, his exhaustion finally showing its head in his features, and he sighed as he nodded.

“…Thank you, guys,” Sergei whispered. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

The interior of the room was too warm. There was a fireplace by the room’s left, its fire making the wood crack and the place to smell slightly of smoke. Heat concentrated on the small room, and Sorey felt himself start to get uncomfortable under his _kamui_ , a bead of sweat rolling down his neck as he bowed.

The King sat behind a wooden desk, a quill in his hand and papers scattered all over the table top. Behind him, two knights from the Royal Guard kept watch over the king, soon standing to attention and giving the newcomers their usual salute. Sorey and the others returned it silently, feet coming together and arm crossing their chests with their fists over their hearts.

“Here,” the King suddenly said, Sorey turning towards him in time to see him seal a folded paper with red wax and rising the letter in his hand. He didn’t stamp the wax. “You know what to do.”

Something moved on the corner of Sorey’s vision. A slender, gloved hand, fingers clasping the white paper softly without even grazing those of the King’s and soon moving away, only a flutter of their garments signaling their movement.

Sorey saw the person in flashes, but precisely for that his heart stopped. A gloved hand. A long piece of white fabric. A veil over fair hair—

It was a mage.

But it wasn’t Mikleo. The mage that had taken the King’s letter was a bronze one, the swirls in their mask catching the light of the fireplace. They didn’t wait around much after getting the letter; with a bow, the mage briskly walked to the door, sealed paper pressed against their chest as they moved between Sorey and Boris to get to the door, and getting out of the room before anyone could say anything.

Sorey pushed down the need to follow them with their eyes.

“Forgive me, Captain Strelka,” the King said after the door closed behind the mage, moving his eyes up and giving Sergei a noble nod. “Urgent matters suddenly required my attention.”

Sergei walked further into the room, until he was standing in front of the desk. Sorey and Boris followed him wordlessly but stayed a bit behind, each at one side of Sergei’s. “I hope it is nothing that would trouble you, my King.”

The King’s eyes flashed, a polite smile on his lips. “It is nothing I cannot take care of,” King Heldalf said. Then his eyes slid slowly to Boris and then to Sorey, gauging their serious expressions before looking back at Sergei. “I was not aware you would be bringing accompaniment to our reunion today.”

Sergei flinched. “Forgive me, your Majesty—“

But the King laughed softly, easily brushing Sergei’s apology away. “There is nothing to forgive, my friend. I was just stating my surprise. Shall we commence, then?”

The King returned to his seat, spreading out a map of the Kingdom of Glenwood over the rest of his papers. As Sorey discreetly leaned closer, curiosity getting the best of him, he saw annotations written down in dark ink around the Northern region, and tendrils like pathways linking the place where the Tower stood to the mountains of Rayfalke.

Sorey felt his heart clench in his chest. It really was happening.

The troops were going to be sent to the North.

“Sire,” Sergei started, looking at the map with the same apprehension Sorey felt in his chest. “Please, allow me to say one more time—“

“I know you are concerned, my dear friend, but you will not change my mind,” the King said, looking up from behind his blond eyelashes. “We need to retake the north. We cannot allow ourselves to lose to Kuba Empire. Not now.”

Sergei gave one step forward, face tense. “I understand, Sire. But the North… It’s cruel. It’s unforgivable. Our numbers will be reduced considerably by the time we reach Hellawes just due to the terrain and the weather—if we ever reach it.”

The King’s head snapped up. There was something sharp in his eyes, but Sorey didn’t know how to name the emotion the King was showing in his face. “Do you not trust your Platinum Knights, Captain Strelka?”

Sorey felt himself go tense. It was a loaded question, and all three of them knew it. If Sergei said no, he would be putting to shame the honor of his knights, something inconsiderable. But if Sergei said yes— there would be nothing that would make the King change his mind.

Maybe there really was nothing else to be done.

“…I would trust them with my life, your Majesty,” Sergei said in the end, not looking away from the King’s eyes. “Always.”

“Then so will I,” The King replied, leaning forward on the table and lacing his own fingers together. “I will trust the lives of the people at the north on the Platinum Knights. I do not want to lose all those people, and I’m sure the knights feel the same,” he continued. Then he moved back to point a lithe, ringed finger on the map, right where the north was, and the line that connected it to the Tower. “I will leave the arrangements to you. But I have traced the best route for your men to reach the capital. The west side of the mountains—“

“That isn’t the best route.”

Sorey didn’t realize he had spoken out loud until he looked up from the map to find a pair of surprised eyes and two identical, horrified faces looking at him.

“…Excuse me?”

It was the King who spoke, his eyes completely fixed on Sorey. Sorey thought of biting his tongue —the others’ faces clearly said that he shouldn’t speak again—, but Sorey… couldn’t do that. Not if the King was thinking of sending them through that route.

“Forgive me, Sire, but that is not the best route,” Sorey said, giving a step forward. He could feel the others’ stares on the back of his neck as he came to stand by the front of the desk, but Sorey’s attention was on the King. If the troops traveled through that route— “That path _is_ safe, but only until you leave behind the first ring of mountains. Then the troops would be forced to go through a narrow space between the mountains of the second ring, one that receives no sunlight during the day. The ground will be ice, and I have no doubt Kuban knights will have already set archers in every nook and cranny of the mountain walls to control the roads to Hellawes. It is the most known route, after all. If a battle were to break there… we would be at clear disadvantage.”

As Sorey’s voice died down, only the creak of the fireplace sounded in the room. Sorey didn’t move his eyes away from the King but he was very aware of the tension in the air; for Sorey, a simple knight, to have opposed the King like that…

“…Why do you know so much about Rayfalke?” The King wondered, curiosity dancing through his eyes.

Sorey lifted his chin. Since he had started to speak already, he wouldn’t back down now. “I have been there, your Majesty. Three years of winter training.”

“Impressive,” the King replied as he leaned back. “I have heard some knights never go back to those sessions after the first year.”

“Sorey is one of our best knights, Sire,” Sergei stepped in, looking from Sorey to the King with a heavy expression. “If he says that is not the best route for our troops, I trust him.”

“Sorey… Yes, I remember you,” the King nodded to himself. “You won the Exhibition.”

“I did,” Sorey could still remember the weight of the ornamental flower at his hip, the eyes of the King fixed on him as he fought his last mock battle. “And Sire… I think I might have an alternative route, if you are interested in hearing it.”

The King looked down at his map, expression pensive. Sorey took the chance to look at his brothers: Sergei was looking back at him with a resigned expression, and Boris was dedicating him an exasperated half-smile, as if he was thinking ‘ _of course you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you, duck?’._ But Boris was right; Sorey was actually glad he had let his words slip. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to stop the King from sending the troops, but if at least Sorey could give them a chance to fight—

“Then, which route would you take?” The King asked, moving his eyes back to Sorey. He seemed really curious to hear Sorey’s answer. “How would you avoid an ambush… while assuring the safety of your knights?”

It was Sorey who looked down at the map, this time. With a firm hand, he leaned over the table and traced a bifurcation from the black line the King had traced, moving the tip of his finger to a point east of the original path, stopping his hand on a place where there seemed to be nothing but mountains. “Right here, Sire,” Sorey said, and traced another line straight through the rings of mountains that formed Rayfalke Spiritcrest, as if he had suddenly forgotten they were there. “There is an old business route that traders and mercenaries used to reach the northern regions during the harsh months of winter. After all, traders are attracted to places in need; business is always good there, if you’re willing to risk your own life. They are narrow roads… Barely wide enough for a cart, or a wagon. But the walls are smooth and most likely frozen over, so there’s no chance of an ambush.”

When Sorey looked up from the map, he was surprised to find the King already looking at him. There was an intelligent glint in his eyes, as if he was already thinking two steps ahead from Sorey. “…And how do you know of this route, my knight?”

“I read of it in a book, Sire.”

The King’s eyebrows shot up, hiding behind the longer strands of his blond hair. “A book? You would put the lives of your comrades in the tellings of a book?”

Again, Sorey squared his shoulders, voice calm but still firm. “I have no reason to think the book is false, my King. Historically speaking, traders and merchants are some of the most intelligent people around. It is their wits what make their business successful, more than their merchandise. It is understandable to think they would find a way to reach places no other merchants could reach, and that they would keep it hush to avoid competition.”

“…That is true,” the King nodded, a gentle smile pulling the corner of his mouth upwards. “But I would say no merchant has ever impressed me as much as you have today, young Sorey.”

Sorey bowed, keeping his head down as he expressed his thanks.

“So that is why,” the king continued, barely letting Sorey speak. “You will lead the troops to the North.”

“What!?” Boris exclaimed, but his voice got lost in the sound Sergei made when he pushed forward, his sheath hitting the front of the table with a metallic sound.

“Sire,” Sergei started, voice fast. “Sorey has never commanded a battle, he is one of the best but he is so young—“

“You said you trusted him,” the King spoke over Sergei, calmly but sternly. “Then, once again, so will I. I need a captain I can trust, and I cannot send you to battle with that arm of yours, my dear friend.”

“You can send me, Sire, and I will go,” Sergei promised, uncaring of his arm still resting on his sling. “But, please—“

“And I cannot send Captain Maltran, either,” the King interrupted once again. “Because if you had wanted me to, you would have brought her here.”

Sergei reeled back at that. The King was right. Sergei couldn’t go to battle like this, and Maltran was needed to command the knights that stayed at home. Sending the two best captains to the same fight assured more lives lost in the future.

Sorey’s heart was beating far too fast. There were things nagging at the back of his mind, things with a name and feelings attached to it that begged for him not to do what he was about to do. But Sorey pretended not to notice. He couldn’t think about that right now. In that moment, he had to think about what was best for the knights, and for the kingdom.

Because, now and forevermore, he was a knight.

“I will do it, Sire,” Sorey said, and a pleased look morphed the features of the King.

“Very well.”

Next to Sorey, Sergei looked pained, as if he was being torn from the inside. “Sorey—“

“Will they follow him?” The King asked Sergei, not taking his eyes away from Sorey, speaking as if he wasn’t in the room anymore. “Will your knights follow the captain I have chosen tonight, captain Strelka?”

“We will,” it was Boris who replied, moving around Sergei to stand by Sorey’s other side. Now it was Sorey the center of the small triangle, with one Strelka brother at each side, close at his back. “We will follow Sorey anywhere.”

“Then it is settled,” The King said, and rose from his seat, the Royal Knights standing a little bit straighter at that. “You will lead your troop to the north, Sorey. I will trust any decision you make, and support it fully.”

“…I will do everything in my power to bring you back the north, your Majesty.”

Slowly, the King walked around the desk. Sergei stepped back to let him pass, but Sorey stood still, looking levelly at the King as he rested his hand on Sorey’s shoulder. It felt heavy on Sorey’s body, even through the layers of protection of Sorey’s _kamui_.

“I know you will, Captain Sorey.”

 

* * *

 

It was decided that Sorey and his troop would leave the next day by midday. They were hoping that the weak winter sun would warm the spirits of the knights, at least during their first day of traveling. Then they would have four days of travel ahead of them before reaching the first ring of Rayfalke. And that would be where the real danger would begin.

The news had been met with similar reactions to those of Boris and Sorey. Everyone thought it was a horrible idea, because all the knights in the Tower knew first hand of the horrors of the north during the winter. But no one dared to give one step forward; maybe they didn’t like the idea, but none of them would oppose the King.

They knew they could lose their lives at any moment, and they were ready for it.

But, surprisingly, even if the knights weren’t happy about the mission, they had no qualms about Sorey leading them. Sorey stood before them all, with Sergei and Boris very close to him, his silent support. The moment the words left Sergei’s mouth, who had been the one to break the news to the knights at the Tower, a brief moment of silence swept over the room before all of them stomped their feet on the ground, the thundering sound seemingly making the Tower shake to its foundations. No one spoke up against it, no one had any doubts about it.

They trusted Sorey as much as Sorey trusted them.

And Sorey would do anything in his hand to not fail them.

The plan was formed a couple of hours after sundown. Sorey would lead a small troop of fifty knights to the outskirts of Hellawes, to assess the situation. The informants that had come from the north had spoken of small numbers of Kuban knights around the capital, so if the numbers were right, Sorey’s troop would take care of them. If not, they would seek refuge in Rayfalke while a second troop moved to join them in battle.

It wasn’t the best plan. If only winning against Kuba had been on Sorey’s mind, he would have sent the whole plan directly to the trash can. But it wasn’t; Sorey wasn’t thinking of winning, of reclaiming back the north.

He was thinking of reducing the number of casualties.

The lesser knights he sent on the first wave… the better.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Sorey,” Kyme had told him, a hand on his shoulder as Sorey revised the maps of Rayfalke available over and over again. “I have no doubt we’ll be victorious with you.”

Kyme had been the first one to step forward after Sorey had explained his plan, asking to be put on the first troop, the one that would travel with Sorey. He wanted to fight alongside his friend, he had said.

Sorey had looked back at him with a tired smile, both in that moment and now, but Sorey still felt guilt swirl in his chest.

More so when Mason had stepped forward as well, right there with Lucas.

“Mase…” Sorey had whispered to him during a private moment they had managed to find, Sorey trying to find the right words to express what he was feeling. “I—“

“Don’t,” Mason had interrupted, smiling at Sorey like he always did. “There’s no way I’m missing your first mission as captain. Don’t worry… Natalie will understand.”

Sorey had left the choice to his knights. He wouldn’t ask anyone to join him, but still many raised their voice to do so. They believed in Sorey’s plan, in the merchant route, in the slight possibility of being victorious.

It made Sorey’s chest feel warm.

Later, Sorey and his 49 knights stayed up preparing it all, until too late became too early. The hours passed by slowly, but still Sorey thought it wasn’t enough time. The King had said he left every choice in Sorey’s hand, but he had insisted on them leaving the next day. There was no time to waste, not when it had been weeks since hearing last from the northern regions. And Sorey agreed… but still he needed time.

Time to—

“Are you going to see Mikleo?” Boris asked, waiting until the last knight finally retired for the night before speaking. They were alone in the room except for Sergei, who had refused to leave until everything was settled, despite not going to battle with them. Sorey had been glad to have him by his side, nodding along to every one of Sorey’s decisions.

“I…” Sorey looked through the window, to the dark grounds of the Academy. “I never sent him a message, in the end. He probably won’t be there. And it’s pretty late too, so…”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard so many excuses roll out of your mouth, duck,” Boris was tired too, his eyes red around the edges and his hair falling messily over his eyes form the number of times he had run his fingers through it during the night, but he still had enough energy to dedicate Sorey an understanding smile. “Go. You’ll regret it later if you don’t.”

For a moment, Sorey almost said no. There were still things to do, to prepare, for their departure tomorrow, but also… All those things would have to be done with the rest of his troop. And even so, more preparing would have to wait until they reached the skirts of Rayfalke. They had four days of journey ahead of them; it would be silly to want to prepare it all the night before.

There was also the fact that Sorey could simply leave, explain it all to Mikleo in a note that Mao would deliver to him. It wouldn’t be the first time Sorey did that, despite the telling-off he always got from his friend upon returning home.

But this time… It felt different. Something bitter crawled up Sorey’s throat at the idea of leaving without seeing Mikleo or saying goodbye. So Sorey nodded to Boris, rising up from his chair and feeling his legs protest as he did so. He had been sitting in front of his maps for far too long.

“Don’t be late,” Sergei said, not moving from his spot by the window. The strap of his sling dug into the column of his neck, leaving an angry mark on the skin. He looked just as tired as his brother, but there was also a weight on Sergei’s shoulders, one that Sorey wished he had the time to address. “You should get some rest as well.”

Sorey nodded and wished them goodnight, walking towards the Academy grounds without another word. The darkness of the night made him feel safe, like he could finally breathe as freely as he could. Back there in the room, both with the King and then with his knights, it had felt like the wrong exhale could bring everything tumbling down, like a castle made of cards.

His legs started to move a little bit faster then. He wanted to see Mikleo. There was no chance at all of Mikleo being awake, much less in the rooftop, but suddenly Sorey needed to see him. A strange feeling was brewing in his heart, almost alien to him, as if it wasn’t his own, and it made him go from walking fast to simply running, already reaching for his hook and rope to climb up the wall of the Academy.

There was only one thing in his mind now, and it wasn’t the threat that tomorrow would bring.

‘ _I’m leaving tomorrow. But if I could get to see you before that, I think—_

_I think I could do anything._

_Please, let me see you tonight.’_

It was the easiest ascent Sorey had ever done in his life. His body seemed weightless as he pushed himself up the rope, his hands finding easily the hidden hand-holds on the wall. He was all the way up and reaching for the balustrade before he even realized it, pushing himself up until his torso was halfway over the railing.

It had been such a fast ascent that he didn’t see the warm light of a lamp until it flickered before his eyes, interrupted by a figure stepping in front of it. Sorey looked up, feet set in the spaces between the balusters, torso curled over the railing with his hands keeping him still— And he found Mikleo there, clad in his long, white coat, and his hood obscuring his naked features.

A luminous smile bloomed on Sorey’s mouth. It had only taken a glimpse of his friend waiting for him there to make his heart skip a happy beat. “Mikleo!” He exclaimed, swinging a leg over the railing. “I can’t believe you’re actually—“

“Tell me you’re _not_ going to the north.”

Mikleo’s words extinguished any warmth Sorey had been feeling. The icy winter wind breezed through the pieces of armor, making Sorey’s sweat turn cold and his skin break in goosebumps. For the first time, still sitting astride on the railing, Sorey noticed Mikleo’s worried expression under the fluff of his hood, the way his eyes shone with magic like starlight and his lips pursed into a thin line.

His cheeks and the tip of his nose were red from the cold and, for a moment, Sorey thought of bringing him closer and not letting go.

But instead he looked away, finally swinging his other leg onto the rooftop but not jumping off to the floor. “I… How do you know about that?”

Mikleo stepped closer. His arms, that had been crossed around him to keep the cold at bay, fell to his sides as he gesticulated when he asked back: “Who do you think is going to pray for this mission to not be a complete failure? Lord Uno came to us today and explained— He told us and I could only think about all the times you’ve told me how incredibly harsh Rayfalke is during the winter…”

“It’s not like there’s much choice,” Sorey said, finally looking at Mikleo. His body slid off the balustrade until he was standing in front of Mikleo, a small distance still separating them. “The King thinks we have already lost the north. There is no time to waste if we want to help the people at and near Hellawes.”

“…But—“ Mikleo stepped forward, and a strong gust of wind pushed his hood back, letting his veil and short hair float freely. Sorey smiled at the sight, feeling his chest tighten. “But it’s so dangerous…”

“We’ve gone through worse!” Sorey replied, mustering the optimism that was so natural to him. It felt muffled tonight, not fake but also not completely real, but still Sorey did his best to ease Mikleo’s worry. “And with you and the others watching over us… It will be alright.”

Mikleo’s eyes flashed. He gave one last step forward, until he was pinning Sorey to the railing and the soft fur of his coat brushed against the front of Sorey’s _kamui_. Sorey jumped, keeping himself very still so as not touch Mikleo, hands tight into fists by his sides.

“So you _are_ going to Rayfalke,” Mikleo said, not sounding surprised at all. It was more of an accusation, his voice hard and rough with emotion.

Sorey looked down. His boots and the tips of Mikleo’s shoes were almost touching. Almost, always almost. “I don’t have a choice, Mikleo.”

“Yes you do! You can step back from a mission. I know you’ve barely done it in the past, but this— Just thinking about it it makes me…”

“Mikleo,” Sorey’s head snapped up but his eyes were sweet as he regarded Mikleo. The emotion in his friend’s voice was bringing some warmth back to his chest, but guilt for worrying Mikleo was there was well. “I’m… I’m the one commanding the mission. The King appointed me captain for it.”

Mikleo stepped back. It was as if the words themselves had pushed him back, just one step, but it seemed like a chasm for Sorey. The necklace Sorey kept under his clothes pulsed, growing silent for a second, and for that same moment Sorey was very aware of the piercing cold around them.

“Captain,” Mikleo simply said, not a question, not even an affirmation. Just a word that rolled off his mouth, his eyes on Sorey but not really seeing him.

Sorey swallowed. “Yeah.”

Silence stretched between them. It was oppressing, heavy on Sorey’s chest. Overhead, the clouds rumbled with an incoming storm, but not even the sound of thunder was enough to make Sorey and Mikleo snap from their tense quietness.

In the end, it was Sorey who spoke again. He felt like he had to explain, to give more to Mikleo than what he had already said. So he moved closer once again, not forgetting to give Mikleo some space still, if he needed it.

“The King was going to send the troops through a pathway that was simply too dangerous. Boris and I went with Sergei to a meeting with the King, and when I saw the route… I couldn’t help it. I had to say something. I said that there was a better alternative… an old merchant route where it was more difficult to be ambushed. He liked the idea, and made me captain. So I would guide the troop through my route…”

As Sorey’s voice died down, Mikleo’s eyes returned to his. He was holding himself tight, fighting the cold, but he didn’t move nor shiver. He just stood in front of Sorey, beautiful and worried and with Sorey’s heart in the palm of his hand. “Of course. There had to be a merchant route to access the Northern regions. Merchants are far too smart to let something like the weather deter them.”

A smile pulled the corner of Sorey’s mouth up, small as it was. “That’s more or less what I said too.”

“…Sorey,” Mikleo said after a small pause. His eyes never once left Sorey’s, and Sorey felt himself get lost in the kaleidoscope of colors. “If I asked you to not do this… Would you reconsider it?”

Sorey’s heart skipped a beat, but his answer was clear at the forefront of his mind. “…I can’t, Mikleo. If I back down now the King might change routes again and send my brothers through the more dangerous one. And that… I can’t allow that.”

Mikleo nodded, as if he had been expecting that answer as well. His hands shook there where they gripped the fabric of his own coat, but Sorey didn’t think it was from nervousness, or the cold. It was pure tension, tension that wracked Mikleo’s body at that he did everything possible to hide. “And if I…” Mikleo licked his lips, a shuddering breath transforming into white fog between them. “If I asked you to run away with me. Away from the Academy and the Tower and everything… Would you reconsider it?”

Sorey’s heart didn’t just skip a beat there. It did a somersault, squeezed into itself, and fell down to die at the pit of Sorey’s chest, pressed snuggly in the spaces between his ribs as his mind tried to wrap itself around Mikleo’s words. “Run away…?”

“I have a bad feeling about this, Sorey,” Mikleo confessed, shaking his head. “It doesn’t feel like other missions you’ve gone to. Even this moment— It feels like if I don’t do something, anything, things will just… End. So if this is what it takes to keep you safe… Let’s run away, Sorey.”

Sorey swallowed again, his mouth dry like parchment. “But what about… everything?”

‘ _What about your dream?’_ Sorey wondered inwardly, feeling dizzy with emotion. ‘ _What about the Earthpulse, and your magic, and… What about the King?’_

“…The King came to my chambers the other morning,” Mikleo replied, as if he had heard Sorey’s inner thoughts. “He came to ask of me the same thing the blue mages did. He asked me to be his Seraph.”

“The King did…?”

“Yes,” Mikleo nodded, and his eyes were clear and firm when he looked into Sorey’s and said: “Ask me what my answer was.”

“…What was your answer, Mikleo?”

“I refused,” Mikleo replied easily, and Sorey’s heart soared. “I refused, because I wanted to stay here, Sorey.”

Sorey was thrown back to his conversation with Mason in the morning, during training. And so he couldn’t help but ask, voice incredibly soft, the look in his eyes twice as sweet and hopeful as he muttered a weak: “…With me?”

“…Yes,” Mikleo simply said, and his blush that the cold had arisen in his skin became deeper. “So you too, stay here, Sorey. Please, don’t go to the north.”

Sorey entertained the idea… for a fleeting moment. He saw himself going to Sergei, telling him that he was stepping back, that he wouldn’t leave. He saw himself staying in the grounds as his brothers left, a map to certain death in their hands and only smiles of understanding in their faces. He saw Mason telling him about Natalie and leaving the Academy after this one last mission, saw Boris’ face for one last time, that familiar smirk, those gentle eyes, before turning around and walking to Mikleo, who waited for him with a gloved hand extended towards him.

And Sorey’s heart broke, neatly parted right through the middle, severed with something as sharp as his own sword.

Because there was no choice here.

Sorey simply just—

“I can’t do it, Mikleo,” Sorey said finally, his words scraping the walls of his throat on their way out. “I can’t.”

A beat of silence. A moment of stillness… And then Mikleo nodded, finally lowering his eyes. A soft smile appeared on his lips, but without any of the teasing or warmth that plagued every one of Mikleo’s smiles. “I… I expected that much,” Mikleo said, his hands tightening on his coat. “It wouldn’t be you if you said you would stay.”

Sorey smiled sadly as well, lowering his head until the front of his headband brushed against Mikleo’s veil. “And it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t know me so well.”

“…I had to try, at least,” Mikleo admitted. “But I’ll do everything I can to bring you back safe, Sorey. You can trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Sorey replied, fighting against the need of leaning against Mikleo all the way. His breath was very warm against his chin, his cheeks. “I know you’ll keep me safe while I’m away. And I promise you I’ll be back, and then we can talk about…” Sorey’s chest felt warm and tight as he thought of that moment, but he still pushed the words past his lips. “About everything. If you want.”

Mikleo lifted his face slowly, never once moving back. His nose barely brushed against Sorey’s cheek, and just the thought of it sent Sorey’s heart into overdrive, even if the contact never came.

“Concentrate on coming back first,” Mikleo said, and Sorey got lost in his eyes, in the magic that seemed to come from him in waves. “And we’ll see how everything goes.”

Sorey needed to ground himself. Mikleo smelt like cold and vanilla, and he felt much, much warmer than the small, magical flame that lived inside his necklace. So he lifted both hands, hesitating for a second before letting his fingers tangle in the ends of Mikleo’s veil, the soft material sliding over his rough knuckles like silk. “Okay, Mikleo.”

Mikleo’s eyes fluttered. His lashes cast shadows in the colors of his eyes, but still they looked incredibly luminous, more vibrant than the stars that hid behind the stormy clouds. Sorey thought that Mikleo would move away, that he would send a look to Sorey’s hands on his veil… But he didn’t. He did seem surprised, however, another emotion to add to the roller coaster of feelings that lingered inside of him, and Sorey’s heart reacted to that surprise with a small squeeze.

He was beautiful and warm and simply Mikleo, and Sorey wanted to melt against him like he had never wanted anything else before.

With trembling fingers, Sorey lowered Mikleo’s veil over his features, so it fell softly to his chin, obscuring Mikleo’s features just the tiniest bit. The veil was see-through but the fabric dulled the definition of Mikleo’s eyes, the softness of his lips. Still, Sorey let it fall between them, his heart picking up its rhythm.

He thought about what awaited him. He thought of the unforgiving mountains and the taste of blood in the atmosphere of every battle. He thought of the pain and the magic cracking in the air, in the bite of the cold and the yearning of going back home.

He thought of the impossibility of his mission, and what he would give to come back again to this place, someday.

But when he leant forward —when Sorey tightened his hold on Mikleo’s veil and tilted his head to the side, when lowered his eyelids as he softly pressed his mouth to Mikleo’s over the thin fabric and Mikleo’s surprised gasp filled him with warmth—all other thoughts faded away into the cold night air. Sorey closed his eyes all the way and kissed Mikleo with a choked breath, the pressure of his mouth mounting as the veil dampened and the feeble barrier between them became almost non-existent.

It was everything Sorey had ever dreamed and wished for, but still not enough. Not enough to fill the gaping hole in his chest—and not enough to make Mikleo kiss him back.

Sorey made a sound against Mikleo’s mouth, and then relaxed. He moved away for a second, hands still on Mikleo’s veil, just to lean closer once again, leaving another fleeting kiss on Mikleo’s slightly parted mouth. As if he was trying to let both of them —himself and Mikleo—know that this was real, that this had truly happened. That Sorey had kissed Mikleo at the worst moment possible.

And that he didn’t regret it one bit.

When Sorey finally leaned away, opening his eyes to the barely lit rooftop, he found Mikleo already looking at him. His blush was incredibly deep now, reaching the tips of his ears and down past the neck of his coat, to a place Sorey wasn’t allowed to see. His eyes were big in their surprise, and his mouth was still slightly open, the now damp veil clinging to his lips in the same way Sorey wished he could do. Sorey’s hands ached to move, to seek the warmth of Mikleo’s skin and the softness of his hair. But instead Sorey let them fall to his sides and away from Mikleo’s face, trembling softly now that they had nothing to hold on to.

And meanwhile, only a thought crossed Sorey’s mind, fast and tangled but still bright.

_‘I love you I love you I love you—‘_

“…Consider this a promise, okay?” Sorey said when the silence stretched too far, and the tingle in his lips evaporated completely into the air. “You can… shout at me for this when I come back.”

Sorey moved before Mikleo had the chance to speak. Not hearing Mikleo’s answer would be part of his promise, he thought. The need to hear a definite answer to his feelings, the pain in his heart at the unrequited kiss, all of that would fuel his desire to come back home. So he left for the railing without another wasted moment, forcing himself to think of this as a pause, instead of an end.

He only allowed himself a look before letting go of the balustrade. He drank from the sight of Mikleo standing in the lamp’s dim light, still frozen in place but with his hand now over his lips, his fingers barely brushing his own skin over the veil as he stared into space with wide eyes.

Sorey gripped his rope tight in his palms, knees ready for his descent.

“…See you soon, Mikleo,” Sorey muttered, voice carried away by the wind.

He did not know if Mikleo had heard him.

Not even when Sorey eased his hold on the rope, and let himself fall into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, the sun refused to make the clouds part for itself. It remained stubbornly hidden behind clouds that Sorey was sure would release snow the further north they went. In the Academy grounds, however, only electricity and the faint smell of rain lingered in the air, the ground beneath their feet completely dry for now. All around, knights wrapped themselves in thick clothes and coats, some even standing very close together to maintain some of the warmth that they had had inside the Tower to keep the cold at bay.

It wasn’t the best parting weather, but they would have to make do.

Sorey observed his small troop get ready, the sounds of metal against metal and soft neighs giving him a sense of familiarity. Even so, Sorey still had to make everything possible to pretend this was another outing, nothing different from the rest.

But it was. In more ways than one.

“Getting cold feet, captain?”

Sorey spun around at the recognized voice, eyebrows raised. Sirel stood in front of him, dressed in her _kamui_ but not ready to depart. It made sense, since she wasn’t part of Sorey’s troop today, but it still felt weird for Sorey to leave when she was staying behind. He had parted with her for more battles than he could count; Sirel was always a reliable presence by his side.

Sorey tried to feel sad about not having her by him this time, but in the end the only thing he could feel was relief.

“Just a bit,” Sorey replied with a smile. “Don’t tell the others.”

“I don’t think any of them would think any less of you even if I did,” Sirel replied with an equal smile, walking forward until she stood beside him. “…Don’t take it the wrong way, but this is crazy.”

Sorey’s smile faded to something tired. He hadn’t slept at all during the night, not after the rooftop, but this tiredness… It was different. “I know,” he told Sirel, eyes forward and on his troop. He didn’t say anything else.

“Good.”

They stood together like that, watching the others get ready while in silence. But the calm didn’t last for long. Soon, Sorey felt Sirel’s hand on his arm, squeezing softly to make him turn towards her, her blue eyes honest and striking in the gray light of the morning.

“Sorey, I want you to know,” she started, not looking away from him for a second. “That had things been different, I would be going with you today. It would have been an honor to have you as my captain.”

Sorey blinked, moved by Sirel’s completely honest words. There was something behind her eyes, a fire that said more than what Sirel was willing to tell, and Sorey found himself smiling at her once again. As truthfully as Sirel’s own voice had sounded. “That means a lot to me, Sirel. Thank you.”

Sirel nodded. “Keep that in mind, alright? I want another chance to go to battle with you, Sorey.”

“There will be. I promise.”

Almost at unison, they both saluted each other, arms over their chests, fists over their hearts. And then, just as quickly, Sirel hugged Sorey fiercely, her hands clinging to the pieces of armor of the _kamui_ at Sorey’s back, mouth pressed against his shoulder.

“Be safe,” she whispered, and Sorey hugged her back just as tightly.

“You too,” Sorey muttered back, closing his eyes.

A moment later, he was watching her walk back to the Tower. Knights didn’t wait to see their companions off. There was no need for goodbyes when you expected them all to come back.

“You okay, duck?”

Sorey looked behind himself once again to see Boris and Sergei walking together towards him, Boris guiding his horse and Sorey’s own by the reins, fully prepared and equipped. Sergei was dressed normally, but Boris was wearing his thickest coat and his less battered _kamui_ underneath, her headband like always not wrapped around his forehead, but keeping his hair back like a bandana.

“Yeah,” Sorey replied, walking to get his horse from Boris and patting it on the neck affectionately. He took a second to check the cinch of his saddle and the length of his stirrups before turning back to Boris, looking at him from the corner of his eye. “You?”

“Peachy,” Boris replied with a smirk. “Already thinking of our way back. Sergei promised to treat us all to Pendrago’s best when we get back!”

The last part was said loudly, loud enough for the rest of the troop to hear, to which they replied with a happy whoop and some laughter. Sorey smiled with them, watching as Sergei sighed and shook his head.

“I obviously didn’t say that,” Sergei told Sorey, only for him and Boris to hear. “But I guess I’ll have to pretend like I did now.”

“It’s good incentive for the guys!”

“How’s your arm, Sergei?” Sorey asked then, trying to move the conversation elsewhere. Who knows what else Boris could get from his brother if only given some time. “You should be resting.”

“It’s doing alright, as long as I keep it in the sling," Sergei explained, moving his injured arm just a bit and wincing almost immediately. “Most of the time, at least.”

“I told him the same thing, you know,” Boris said, leaning his shoulder against his horse’s back. He was the picture of nonchalance but Sorey knew better; there was no hiding the shadows under his eyes with fake smiles. “But he insisted. He wanted to be here today.”

“Well, it’s a big day for Sorey,” Sergei explained, stepping forward. “Not every battle is your first as captain.”

“…I just want to make sure everyone is safe by the end of this,” Sorey said after a moment, looking back at his troop before looking at the twins again.

In front of him, Sergei smiled. “You’ll do well, Sorey,” He said, and Sorey read perfectly what he wasn’t saying. He couldn’t promise there wouldn’t be lives lost. Even in the best scenario, someone wouldn’t be coming back to these grounds again. But he trusted in Sorey, and any choice he would make. “I have no doubt about it. That’s why… I wanted to give you this.”

Sergei moved his healthy arm forward, from where a thick, heavy, red fabric hung. It was folded over Sergei’s arm, but it was Boris who picked it up and let it unfold, its ragged edges almost brushing the ground at their feet.

Sorey’s eyes opened wide at the sight of the familiar cape. His eyes followed the symbol embroiled with golden thread at the back, the familiar lines that had been a guide for Sorey in every single one of his battles.

It was Sergei’s cloak, with the Strelka family crest shining on the back.

“I—Sergei, I can’t—“ Sorey said with his throat almost closed off, choking on the words. He couldn’t accept it. He couldn’t—

“Of course you can,” Boris said, shaking the cloak and putting it over Sorey’s shoulders with almost delicacy. The fabric fell to Sorey’s ankles over his _kamui_ and coat, bright even under the clouded sky and warm enough to make Sorey feel safe. “You have as much of a right to it as we do.”

“Indeed,” Sergei stepped in with a kind smile. “You are a Strelka, after all. Let our crest guide you home in this battle… Since I can’t.”

Boris fastened the cloak around Sorey’s neck, and Sorey put the lapels close to his chest, feeling the worn material on his fingertips. He didn’t cry, but tears did well up in his eyes as he looked at the cloak over his own shoulders, feeling emotion swirl up his throat. “I— Thank you, guys.”

“Don’t be silly, duck. What are brothers for?”

Sorey smiled.

In the distance, trumpets started to sound. Sorey and the others turned towards the hill where the Academy stood, its white stones contrasting against the gray sky beyond. Standing right at the top of the hill, the King surveyed the grounds with an impassive look as the trumpets continued to sound. The Royal Guard marched behind him, arms already positioned in the knights’ salute.

“It’s time,” Boris whispered, turning his back to the King to face Sorey.

“Yeah,” Sorey said back, licking his lips. There was no sight of mages coming out to join the king in the silent farewell.

“Sorey,” Sergei called, coming closer. And then, before Sorey could react, Sergei curled his healthy arm around Sorey’s shoulders and brought him closer, pressing him against his chest and injured arm in a strange but very warm one-armed hug.

Sorey quickly returned it, hiding his face on Sergei’s shoulder.

“I’ll keep an eye on Mikleo while you’re gone,” Sergei promised him, low but sincere, exactly the words Sorey had needed to hear. “Just concentrate on coming back home.”

Sorey nodded and closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

Sergei stepped back then, letting Sorey’s arms fall to his sides, but he only did so to hug Boris just as fiercely, his healthy hand coming up to cup the back of his twin’s head as they held each other. Sorey saw Boris’ knuckles go white as he held on to Sergei’s _kamui_ , his face obscured by the longest locks of his hair.

“Be safe,” Sorey heard Sergei whisper, his hand sliding away as the long hug came to an end.

Boris smirked at him, just a bit of pain reflected in his eyes. “Aren’t I always?”

Sergei smiled as well. “Don’t give Sorey trouble, either.”

“Hey, I’m the best second in command Sorey could ever ask for!”

“But my second in command is Mason?” Sorey replied sweetly, feigning innocence as Sergei laughed discreetly behind his hand.

Boris slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t even joke about that, or you’ll break my heart!”

Sorey went to speak once again, but drums joined the music of the trumpets and the heavy feeling that had disappeared while he spoke to his brothers returned to his chest. With one last nod at Sergei, Sorey slid the tip of his boot into one of the stirrups and pushed himself up on top of his horse, palming its neck again when the animal moved to accommodate Sorey’s weight. The Strelka family cloak trailed after him like a cape, its ragged ends going beyond the end of his saddle and over his horse’s haunches.

He was vaguely aware of Boris getting on his own horse, and Sergei swiftly palming his knee from the ground, before he spurred his horse forward without another look back.

Boris followed him almost immediately, riding just a couple of paces behind him, the dark fur of Boris’ animal always at the corner of Sorey’s vision. And then, once Sorey reached the end of the Academy grounds, he heard the sound of more than forty horses running after him, their hooves hitting the earth until the drums were drowned by them.

Sorey felt his heart beat at the rhythm of their gallop as he unsheathed his sword, rising it in the air and feeling his cloak trail after him in the wind.

“To Hellawes!” He exclaimed.

And behind him, his knights echoed his cry with the same fervor, their voices ringing in Sorey’s heart long after the winter air carried away their words.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until they had left Pendrago so far away that its walls weren’t visible anymore, that Sorey caught sight of Mao flying low over his head.

He hadn’t seen Mao during the last preparations before departure, but Sorey hadn’t been too concerned about it. Mao tended to wander off, but he always followed Sorey to battle, descending from time to time to rest on Sorey’s shoulder, or flying down to the protection that covered Sorey’s forearm when Sorey needed something from him. He was one of the most reliable companions Sorey had ever fought with, and the sight of his golden plumage made Sorey smile out of habit.

But Mao was flying low, and it only took Sorey a glance to know why. He quickly turned his head towards Boris, who mounted by his side.

“I need a moment.”

Boris eyes slid towards Mao, understanding flooding his features before nodding. “Follow me, guys!” He shouted, and Sorey’s troop did as commanded while Sorey pulled from the rein on his right hand and guided his horse off the track, where he slowed down to a stop.

Mao came flying down easily, batting his wings before burying his talons on the leather covering Sorey’s forearm and cawing softly. Sorey petted the golden feathers of his chest before hurrying to unknot the small parcel that hung from Mao’s leg. The moment it was off, Mao took off to rest on his shoulder instead observing as Sorey looked at the parcel in his palm.

Now with both his hands-free, Sorey opened the parcel, feeling Mao nuzzling against his hair, his heart beating fast. Inside the parcel, there were three amulets: two bracelets and a small pendant. The bracelets were braided with black leather and stones that sang of luck and fierce protection, and the pendant shone violet with a color that Sorey loved, no need of sunlight to cast its glare.

Their magic was strong enough to make Sorey’s naked skin tingle.

He didn’t need to read the note to know to whom they belonged, but Sorey did so nonetheless.

 

_‘I told you I would protect you._

_Be safe, and come back home._

_—Mikleo.’_

 

Sorey felt warmth burst in his chest. Years of unsigned notes in fear of being discovered gave the quick scribbled of Mikleo’s name at the foot of his note a whole different meaning. It said more than the words on the note actually said, and Sorey could do nothing but clutch the small parchment in his fist and press it against his chest, not far from where his warm necklace rested against his skin.

On his other hand, the amulets Mikleo had done for him crackled with magic so powerful Sorey could feel it despite not needing to use them in that moment.

_‘The leather is still new, and the edges of the stones are still rugged, not worn. He must have spent the night awake to make them in time…’_

Mikleo had never let Sorey leave without amulets made only for him. This time wasn’t different.

The magic of the perfunctory amulets Sorey wore seemed to pale in comparison to Mikleo’s when Sorey slipped the bracelets onto his wrists. Then he clasped the pendant to his own earring, feeling the small violet jewel brush against his cheek with every movement of his head. The magic in that one was tender but just as strong, a knot of wishes that Sorey would have liked to understand burning low inside of it.

Sorey touched the jewel with his fingers, and smiled.

 _‘Wait for me, Mikleo.’_ Sorey thought, wishing for his words to reach Mikleo, somehow. _‘I promise I’ll be back.’_

He only allowed himself a moment longer to bask in the feeling of Mikleo’s magic on his skin. Then he dug his heels into the sides of his horse and galloped forward, not stopping again.

Home at his back, Sorey rushed after the cloud of dust that his troop arose in the distance.

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 10: firad-raum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Rayfalke was already imposing by sight alone; the different mountains that formed the legendary range huddled together like scales, like horns, sharp and deadly beneath the thick fog that surrounded them perpetually. They formed a body beneath the snow, one pulled out from Sorey’s darkest nightmares, and as the mountains got higher and bigger so did the body, stretching into long, scaled arms with their claws, stretching into—
> 
> Wings.
> 
> There was a reason why Rayfalke was called the dragon mountain. And as Sorey, thirteen years old and away in his first real training as a knight, had looked towards the tallest, deadliest mountain of them all, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from finding the features of the dragon carved into the stone, head thrown back into a roar as the wings stretched at both of its sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO I AM BACK! And soon you’ll wish I wasn’t!
> 
> Hi guys! Sorry for the long wait, real life isn’t being the greatest right now, but as you can see I’m still putting out chapters every now and then. I promise Knight and Mage isn’t over, nor I will let it die. Thank you for your patience with each update, and for your understanding!
> 
> That being said, this is a rather important author’s note, since **THE TAGS HAVE BEEN UPDATED.** This fic has had the tags of **Explicit** and **Graphic depictions of violence** since the beginning, but we’ve finally reached the point where I’ve had to update the tags. So please, please:
> 
> **IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE CHARACTER DEATH, THIS FIC ISN’T FOR YOU**  
>  **IF YOU’RE ONLY AFFECTED BY CERTAIN CHARACTERS DYING, THIS FIC ISN’T FOR YOU**  
>  ****  
> If character death makes you uncomfortable in any way, please **, do stop reading.** I will understand completely.
> 
> For the rest of you that are still around, I’ll see you again in the end of chapter notes!
> 
> Happy reading! (And sorry!).

 

 

The first time Sorey had gone to the north, he had been thirteen.

Winter Training was mandatory for every knight of Glenwood, but many didn’t return to the harsh mountains of Rayfalke for a second time. The rough conditions, the vast whiteness of snow, the miles that separated them from home, all of it weighted on the knights’ minds and bodies in a way that no physical training ever should. By the end of the first day, the idea of giving up was so tempting that many toyed with it, forgetting for a long moment why they were doing it, and why they were there.

By the end of the first week, giving up wasn’t an idea, but a necessity.

Sorey himself had almost given up that first time, even before setting foot in Rayfalke. When Sergei had made them stop by the white plain that lead to Rayfalke, and Sorey had seen for the first time how it truly looked like, he had felt his knees lose the grip they had on his saddle and his feet tremble in their stirrups. Because Rayfalke was already imposing by sight alone; the different mountains that formed the legendary range huddled together like scales, like _horns,_ sharp and deadly beneath the thick fog that surrounded them perpetually. They formed a body beneath the snow, one pulled out from Sorey’s darkest nightmares, and as the mountains got higher and bigger so did the body, stretching into long, scaled arms with their claws, stretching into—

_Wings._

There was a reason why Rayfalke was called the dragon mountain. And as Sorey, thirteen years old and away in his first real training as a knight, had looked towards the tallest, deadliest mountain of them all, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from finding the features of the dragon carved into the stone, head thrown back into a roar as the wings stretched at both of its sides.

Sorey’s horse took a step back. Sorey let it, wanting as much space between the dragon and himself as possible.

But Boris, who had been keeping a close eye on Sorey the whole ride, had smiled and reached forward to grab the reins of Sorey’s horse, stilling them both. He didn’t have the scar near his eye back then, but there was already a caring look on Boris’ pupils whenever he looked at Sorey.

“I know it’s hard in this weather, but don’t get cold feet now,” Boris had said, still smiling. “It only gives that sense of foreboding the first… four hundred times?”

Sorey had smiled back then, shaking his head at Boris’ attempt to make him feel better. But it was now, six years later and captain of his own troop, standing by his horse in that same plain while the mountains waited ahead cloaked in darkness, that Sorey understood that Boris had been telling him the truth in that moment. It didn’t matter how many lives depended on you, how heavy the mantle of captain was on your shoulders, or the support of the amulets against your skin.

There was no avoiding Rayfalke making you feel incredibly small.

“Sorey,” a voice called behind him, and Sorey turned to see Boris pointing over his own shoulder, where the rest of their troop gathered close to keep warm. The smell of smoke and meat hung in the air; they had just put down the fire at the campsite, but some lamplights were still burning around the camp. “The guys are almost done. I think they’re stalling though, so you should go hurry them up a bit.”

Sorey shook his head, a puff of white smoke escaping from his mouth as he spoke. “It’s okay. We still have an hour until sunrise. Let them stall for a bit longer.”

“…You’re just as soft as Sergei, I swear—“ Boris mumbled, but walked to stand by Sorey’s side instead of going back to the others.

Together, they returned their gazes to Rayfalke beyond, observing in silence. It had been four days of traveling, with stops as short as they could manage, and a strange feeling of haste clung to the skin of every knight. The journey was part of the Winter Training so it was never rushed, but this time it was different, and that difference put the knights on edge.

Sorey wanted that edge gone. If his knights were worried and agitated, it could open more opportunities for something to go wrong. So it was on Sorey, their captain, to make sure they didn’t step into battle with the wrong emotions in their chest.

He could do the worrying for them.

“That motherfucker gets scarier each year, don’t you think?” Boris whispered, his words meant only for Sorey’s ears. He pointed towards Rayfalke with his chin, and a brisk breeze hit them back, cold against their heated skin. The ends of Boris’ headband snapped behind his back. “Like the edges get sharper. I don’t know.”

Sorey nodded. Before them, Rayfalke seemed angrier than usual, as if it was going to spit fire out of its open jaws at any moment. “Maybe. But it’s alright,” Sorey hadn’t taken his eyes away from the mountains still, but he didn’t need to; he could feel Boris’ inquisitive glance against the side of his head. “I will keep all of you safe. No matter what.”

For a moment, Boris said nothing. Even the voices of the knights behind them seemed to have fallen silent, the whole world listening to Sorey intently. But it was only the magic of the north isolating both brothers, and when Boris laughed lowly and ruffled Sorey’s hair, every sound came back to them as if they had never left in the first place.

“I know, duck,” Boris said, his hand sliding down the back of Sorey’s head until it was resting over the worn-out Strelka mantle. “We know.”

“Captain Sorey,” Someone said from behind them both, and this time Sorey did look away from the mountains. The knights were waiting for them already, fully geared once again and weapons strapped to their bodies. One knight had walked closer than the others, standing straight with her boots pressed together. “We are ready for instruction, sir.”

Sorey nodded. Another gust of cold wind slammed against the bodies of the knights, shaking them on their feet, but Sorey didn’t feel its bite.

The fast beating of his heart, much more than the necklace around his neck, made sure to keep him warm.

 

* * *

 

Mikleo rose from his bed way before the morning bells, tired of pretending to be asleep.

The last few nights hadn’t been easy on him, but that last one had been the worst. After keeping count of the days that passed, and relying on what little he knew about the Knights’ plans, Mikleo was fairly sure that today would be the day when Sorey and the others would reach the skirts of Rayfalke. He had been feeling anxiety creeping up to him as the days went on, and tonight it had ended up bursting inside his chest, keeping him awake as he imagined Sorey out there, far away, mountains and snow separating him from home.

In what many considered to be a suicide mission.

The whole Academy was still asleep when Mikleo set his foot onto the floor of his room. Even Love still rested inside her cage, hidden behind a thin cloth. The room was dark but only pleasantly cold, chasing away the warmth from the bed that still remained on Mikleo’s skin. The sky outside was beginning to turn a deep purple, no stars visible but the moon still shining stubbornly in a corner. Beneath that same sky, the Tower seemed sad, somehow, void, as if the fact that many of its knights were gone was noticeable in the hard stone of the outer walls.

Or maybe Mikleo was just projecting his own feelings onto the Knights’ home, his chest tight as he thought about another day without knowing.

Despite the chill air in the room, Mikleo’s skin still felt hot, the feeling somehow unrelated to all the layers of his _sumari_. A strange feeling bubbled under Mikleo’s ribcage, his heart beating as if he had just ran up a flight of stairs. But when he pressed his hand against his chest, fingers splayed over his _sumari,_ Mikleo felt his heart beating normally under his palm.

The warmth of his skin and the strain of his heart didn’t feel like his own. Mikleo frowned in the silence of his room, pressing his hand tighter against his sternum.

But a knock came at his door, right on time with the first bell of the morning, and that did make his heart start to race. Putting his mask hastily over his features, and grabbing his veil from the back of his chair, Mikleo ran to the door and opened it slightly, only enough to push his head out and see a familiar blue mage waiting patiently at the other side.

“Good morning, Lailah,” Mikleo said, keeping the edge of the door snuggly pressed against his side. He trusted Lailah, but having her see Love’s cage would attract more problems than Mikleo felt the need to have right now. He only hoped the little bird didn’t feel the need to peep now.

“Good morning, Mikleo-san. You are up early,” Lailah’s voice was sweet as it came from behind the mask, maybe a bit amused. If she was surprised by Mikleo’s behavior, she didn’t mention it. “I was wondering if you would like to make the walk to the Meadow with me?”

“Of course, of course,” before Lailah could say anything else, Mikleo slipped out of his own room and into the cold hallway, closing the door quickly behind himself. “Ready when you are.”

Lailah’s soft giggle was muffled by the sturdy material of her mask, once again. Mikleo raised an eyebrow at her, forgetting for a moment that she couldn’t see it. “Are you not going to put your veil on, Mikleo-san?”

Mikleo jumped softly, looking down at the veil in his hand. For the last four days, Mikleo had started to feel his heart constrict when looking at his veil. It didn’t take much to know why, and the feeling always eased a few minutes into wearing the garment, but that didn’t mean his body and mind stopped ‘pretending’ to forget the veil was something he had to wear.

Feeling his cheeks heat up behind his mask, Mikleo put his veil on without a word, fixing it properly. He almost expected the soft fabric to brush against his lips, brush against his cheeks— but it did nothing except fall sadly over the top of his mask, not even reaching to cover the piece of it that hid his forehead completely.

Mikleo sighed, letting go of the veil once it was secured over his head.

The sound didn’t go unnoticed by Lailah. “…Mikleo-san. Do you consider me a friend?”

That made Mikleo stop short, barely out of the hallway that led to his room. Lailah took two more soundless steps and stopped as well, turning to look at Mikleo. Her long braid swayed with the movement, in away that had grown familiar to Mikleo over the years, but for the first time in probably forever, Mikleo wished he could have grown to learn Lailah’s face as well. With her expressions. He would have liked to have a clue so as from where that question came, beforehand.

“I…” Mikleo started, blinking confusedly behind his mask. “Of— course, Lailah. Yes, I consider you my friend.”

He did. Sorey was — _Sorey_ , but many times Mikleo felt like Lailah was the only one he could call a friend in his daily life. Sorey was a reprieve, a ray of sunshine in a rainy day, so much more than what Mikleo could put into words. But if Sorey was the sun, Lailah was Mikleo’s umbrella; the shelter he needed where Sorey’s light couldn’t reach.

“Then please, Mikleo-san…” Lailah went on, stepping closer. If this were another place, another world, Mikleo felt like Lailah’s movement would have come with a gentle hold of his hand. Or maybe he was just projecting again. “Rely on me, okay? I know you… keep a lot of things sealed within yourself. A lot of secrets. I am not saying you should tell me everything about them but… Please know that you can trust me. With anything.”

Mikleo finally felt a different kind of warmth pooling under his ribs, born from the affection that he felt towards Lailah. It finally felt like his own, soft and tender under his skin, and for the first time in days Mikleo felt his shoulders ease a bit from the tension.

“You do not have to go through this alone,” Lailah continued, and any doubt of Lailah knowing more than she wanted to admit evaporated.

And still, Mikleo didn’t have it in him to be surprised, or even anxious. He simply lifted his chin and nodded, feeling a smile start to uncurl on his lips. He hadn’t been lying when he had said he trusted her. “Thank you, Lailah… Really.”

“Of course, Mikleo-san.”

“…This goes both ways, though,” Mikleo went on as they resumed their walking, a little bit faster now. The second set of bells was already chiming; they could end up being late if they weren’t careful, despite their early rise. “If you ever need to talk… I am here for you.“

Lailah laughed softly next to him, rising a hand so her fingers ghosted where her mouth must be. Mikleo was sure she had a lovely smile. “Thank you, Mikleo-san. I am afraid my life is not as interesting as yours… But I will do my best.”

It didn’t escape Mikleo’s notice that Lailah hadn’t said she didn’t have secrets of her own. The realization suddenly made Mikleo really curious.

But before he could ask, Mikleo realized they had reached the doors of the Meadow. Three knights lingered by the door, speaking among them without acknowledging the mages. It was Mikleo who had to open the door for himself and Lailah, the knights only nodding when the sound reached them but otherwise ignoring them. Mikleo frowned as they stepped onto the grass and the door closed at their backs.

“Come, Mikleo-san,” Lailah said, not paying any mind to the knights either. “You will sit with us today.”

“W-what?” Mikleo ran to catch up to Lailah, who was already walking towards where the blue mages knelt, near the Northern crystal wall of the meadow. “But Lailah, I am not a blue mage—“

“That does not matter today,” she replied, turning her mask over her shoulder. Her tone sounded a bit sad. “Our knights need us today more than ever. It is very probable that battle will break at some point during the day; things like exams do not matter at a time like this.”

Swallowing thickly, Mikleo nodded. She was right. The placements in the Meadow had a lot to do with tradition and hierarchies, but it had something to do with power too. The closer they prayed together the stronger their wishes would be.

So Mikleo followed Lailah silently, nodding at the few other blue mages as they got closer, and only stopping when Lord Uno rose at their arrival, hands softly clasped before his _sumari_.

“Good morning, Lady Lailah, Lord Mikleo,” Uno whispered, keeping his voice down in the silence of the Meadow. “I am glad to have you with us today.”

Mikleo nodded again. “Thank you for having me.”

While more mages walked in, Mikleo and Lailah took a seat in the row of blue mages, side by side. Mikleo folded his knees underneath himself and sighed, trying to let go of all his tension. Since the prayers hadn’t started yet, the earthpulse beneath the grass was peaceful, tranquil. Mikleo reached out with his own magic, brushing against it lazily to feel its warmth.

_‘Sorey…’_

The thought came unbidden, but the earthpulse reacted to it just the same. Mikleo felt Sorey’s presence suddenly very real and close right by him, at the tip of his fingertips, instead of miles away from him. It felt even closer than when Sorey slept in his room at the Tower, and Mikleo felt his chest suddenly very tight with emotion.

Mikleo reached even further, slowly, as his eyes fell closed. _‘Hi…’_

Words had no shape in the earthpulse, no meaning. Only emotions and magic could travel the distance, so Mikleo knew it was stupid to try and communicate with Sorey like that. But when something akin to an answer came back, when Mikleo felt his lips tingle with the ghost of a memory, Mikleo knew that he had truly reached Sorey through the earthpulse.

There were no limits to Mikleo’s magic anymore.

He could protect Sorey from the Meadow.

A low murmur of voices made Mikleo snap out of his trance, shaking the warm mist of the earthpulse from his mind. The mages weren’t silent anymore; they couldn’t help it, not now that their attention had a new target. Mikleo’s eyes opened wide in surprise at the sight of the King, standing reverently against one of the walls of glass, near the door. Two knights of the Royal Guard stood beside him, weapons at their sides.

Mikleo felt something flutter inside of himself at the sight of the King, but it didn’t bring the same waves of nerves and excitement that he felt before. Now that he had laid his answer in the open, now that he had decided to stay in the Academy, he felt at ease to be true to his task. He would continue to care and protect his king and his kingdom, as a mage.

“Let us begin, my mages,” Lord Uno said, bringing the whispers in the room into a vibrant silence. “Today, we will assist our knights in their battle for the protection of our kingdom. Let us hope that our prayers reach them, and that they come back home safe.”

Mikleo closed his eyes. The earthpulse beneath him stirred, reached out, not in anger like the day Symonne died, but in the same way it had always done so. Mikleo sunk into the familiarity, looked for Sorey’s warmth once more, and though he didn’t find it as clearly as before, he did feel it as a part of the whole that were the knights he was meant to protect.

That was alright with Mikleo, though. He wanted to bring everyone back home safe, yes, but the distance and hard work gave Mikleo something he hadn’t realized he needed. It gave him a chance to forget the memory of pressure against his lips, a memory that he didn’t have the time to think about. A memory that brought heat and color to his cheeks, no matter the confusing thoughts behind it.

Still, like Mikleo had decided, now wasn’t the time to think about that. He had knights to pray for. He had to protect Sorey, no matter what.

But as his magic became one with the earthpulse and wrapped around the knights through the distance, Mikleo couldn’t help but cling to the feeling that was Sorey, the way Sorey had clung to his veil nights ago.

_‘I’ll bring you back home,’_ Mikleo promised silently, even if his body was shivering. There was cold like Mikleo had never felt before, biting at his skin from inside his body, chilling his bones.

It was the cold of the mountains.

 

* * *

 

The temperature dropped when the knights reached the shadow of Rayfalke.

Sorey hid his chin in the folds of the scarf around his neck, shivering despite the warmth that emanated from Mikleo’s necklace. The cold was too strong for the tiny pendant, claiming Sorey’s skin and going deep enough to reach his bones. The wind, and the falling snow that it dragged didn’t help either; Sorey had to use double the strength just to keep himself on top of his horse, clinging with his knees to the saddle and with his gloved fingers to the mane of the animal. In other circumstances, he would have told his troop to go by foot, to protect themselves with the bodies of their mounts, but Sorey simply didn’t dare. The skirts of Rayfalke were far too wide, too open for Sorey to feel confident in them. If it was necessary, a retreat would be faster if everyone was on their saddle rather than standing by its side.

“Man, I can’t feel my balls,” Lucas suddenly said, wiggling on top of his horse. They didn’t have to keep silent precisely, but the almost blizzard and the cold tended to keep the conversations to a bare minimum, the knights only speaking when it was something important. Lucas didn’t seem to have gotten the memo, though.

“Oh, you do have balls? Could’ve fooled me,” Boris said back with a smirk.

Sorey’s barrack had wordlessly hurdled closer to Sorey at some point, creating some kind of semi-circle around him with Sorey as the centre of their straight line. Kyme and Boris had Sorey’s flanks, while Mason and Lucas closed the rear. Beyond, some of the rest of the knights snickered at Boris’ comeback.

“And I thought your tongue would have fallen to frostbite, but we can’t be that lucky everyday.” Lucas replied back, sliding his foot from his saddle’s stirrup and reaching forward to try and kick Boris’ knee, like a kid.

“Please,” Kyme stepped in, a tired edge in his voice. “can’t we talk about something else? Something that isn’t Lucas’ bits?”

“Aw, baby, but what else is there to talk about—?”

“Hey, Sorey,” Mason started to say, ignoring the soft banter of their friends. “How long until we reach your path?”

Sorey narrowed his eyes through the snow and fog, trying to see beyond the wall of the mountain that they were following. “Not long,” he admitted, thinking back to the map he had memorized to every detail. “We should end up at the entrance soon.”

Mason nodded, leaning forward over the neck of his horse. “Should we rush there? The walls of the mountain will shield us from the wind and, honestly, that sounds like heaven right now.”

Sorey’s low hum turned into white fog, but the wind carried it away before Sorey could even see it. It wasn’t strong enough that it stopped Mason’s voice from being heard, but it was definitely picking up. Sorey would have preferred it if they could have approached the path between the mountains slowly, more so considering the visibility wasn’t good enough, but he didn’t want the quickly worsening weather to catch up to them in the open.

“Okay,” Sorey replied to Mason. And then, holding on even tighter to his reins, Sorey turned his head over his shoulder and shouted to all of his knights. “Follow me!”

The knights knew to urge their animals forward after Sorey, following him calmly when Sorey’s horse started its gallop.

The path Sorey had read about was one that was known only by those who’ve been there. You wouldn’t find a map that depicted it, nor would anyone tell you where it was, because they simply wouldn’t. Sorey had happened to read it in a merchant’s diary, someone who used to travel to the north in the harsh months of winter, and had had no qualms on writing about it in their own journal, probably so they themselves wouldn’t forget. They had written about the position of the winter stars in the night sky, about the marks on the stone that guided them there. Sorey wished the merchant had given more clues so as how to reach it during the beginnings of a blizzard, but he was content with what he had.

He had enough to find it, after all.

And he was even more content when he saw the projection of the rock shaped after a curling claw, the tip almost pointing to the path’s entrance. With a sigh of relief against the inner part of his scarf, Sorey lifted a hand to gather the knights’ attention and then pointed back forward wordlessly, signaling. At once, the whole troop sped their horses up towards where Sorey had pointed, the idea of an end to the wind and biting cold enough to spur them forward.

But when they reached the crevice in the rock of the mountain, the knights quickly pulled at the reins of their horses, making them skid to a halt over the snow.

The path was blocked by mountain rocks.

They must had fallen ones on top of the others like rain, pilling until they reached a point way over Sorey’s head. The smallest rocks were the size and weight of three horses, at least. Sorey observed them as he felt their weight settle low in his chest, almost choking him. The safest way to reach Hellawes… was gone.

Sorey sat frozen on top of his horse, the heavy silence of his troop making the wind even louder. But Boris jumped off his animal and walked closer to the rocks, his footsteps loud with the creaking of the snow. Sorey didn’t stop him, and maybe if things had been different he would have even followed him. But he had just seen that his chance, the reason why he had been entrusted with this mission, didn’t even exist. Or worse, it did exist. It was just useless.

There was no way Sorey could have known, but that didn’t stop guilt from bubbling up his throat from the depths of his chest.

“Sorey!” Boris shouted over the wind. When Sorey moved his gaze towards his brother, he saw him making signals with his hand for him to come closer.

After making sure Mason would keep both his horse and Boris’ still, Sorey walked to join Boris. It wasn’t easy for Sorey to feel defeated, but the rocks on their path were a heavy blow for him. He had put all his confidence in fulfilling this mission with no lives lost in this safe path, and they had been defeated even before their mission had truly began.

But one look at Boris’ face made Sorey sprint the rest of the way, worry joining the guilt inside himself.

“What is it?” Sorey asked, already knowing something wasn’t right. Boris was touching one of the rocks with three fingers, brushing his naked skin against it before showing Sorey. Instead of white or wet like Sorey had expected, Boris’ fingers came pitch dark with some kind of dust, a stark contrast against all the snow that surrounded them.

With no hesitation, Sorey leaned forward and sniffed the dust on Boris’ fingers, immediately feeling an uncomfortable but still familiar itch in his nose and throat.

“Gunpowder?” Sorey asked, even though he knew the answer already. In Glenwood, gunpowder was used in medicine, to treat wounds in the middle of a battle. But even more than that, gunpowder was used for _explosives._

“I don’t like this,” Boris said, lowering his hand and rubbing it against his _kamui_ , as if the feel of the gunpowder on his skin disgusted him. “The snow hasn’t covered the fallen rocks just yet. And considering the wind… It could have carried the sound of the explosion away from us. Even if this happened ten minutes ago, we wouldn’t have heard a thing.”

Both brothers shared a worried look. One thing was a natural inconvenience, brought to them by the harsh weather that always lingered at Rayfalke…

But gunpowder meant humans. And this was supposed to be a barely known path.

The itch was still in his throat when Sorey turned to look at his knights. He wondered, as he looked at their stricken faces one by one, if their expressions where a mirror of his own. Could they see the weariness Sorey felt? Could they see the dread?

Sorey hoped that wasn’t the case. He needed them to trust in him, and Sorey knew there was nothing worse than a captain who needed to be babysat.

“What do we do, Sorey?” Kyme asked, probably voicing the question of every single knight that awaited Sorey’s next orders.

Sorey squared his jaw, his shoulders —already tense underneath the mantle of the Strelka family —, doing everything they could to support the weight and tension Sorey had on his back. “We’ll ride back to the King’s route,” He finally said, loud enough for everyone in his troop to hear. “There is no way we’ll be able to move the rocks, so we need a new path.”

He hated to do it, but Sorey knew it was better to keep Boris’ discovery a secret. Not because he thought his knights didn’t need to know, but because he didn’t know who could be hiding, listening for their plans.

“Are you sure?” Boris asked, stepping closer. Coming from anyone else, the questions could have sounded demanding, almost as if he was questioning Sorey’s command. But this was Boris, and the idea didn’t even cross Sorey’s mind. There was no mistaking Boris’ worry for rebellion; Boris simply knew Sorey was the one who disliked the King’s idea the most.

Still, the King’s path was the only way they had to reach Hellawes, anymore. Trying to find any other way would take them days, maybe even weeks if the weather continued on like this. They would walk around Rayfalke endlessly, without aim, praying for a good enough path to appear but that might not even exist.

And Sorey didn’t want to spend one more second than necessary in the open, much less so if the ones who had left the gunpowder behind were still around.

“Yes,” Sorey replied to Boris’ question, with a sure nod of his head. “The King’s route wasn’t bad, just not as safe. We’ll have to keep our eyes open and be twice as vigilant, and keep pushing forward.”

“Yes, captain!” The knights shouted at once, their voices loud in the echo of the mountain.

Boris rested his naked hand on top of Sorey’s shoulder. The thick armor and heavy coat made the pressure of Boris’ fingers almost non-existent, but it was enough to make some of the unease in Sorey’s chest leave his body with the wind. “It’s alright, duckling,” Boris said softly, only for Sorey, before squeezing the fabric of his coat once and letting his hand slip away.

Sorey simply nodded, but still sent Boris a grateful smile.

Overhead, flying low enough to be seen and wings expanded to their maximum to ride the wind, Sorey saw Mao like a golden flash, keeping an eye on him and the others.

Moments later, both of them returned to their saddles, rushing to the head of the group and leading them back to the King’s path, which they had left behind not too long ago. There was no time for an idle march, not even for a low trot. Sorey dug his heels deep on the sides of his mount, spurring it forward, and a second later his knights imitated him, lifting snow and dirt in their wake.

There were no words exchanged, but Sorey knew his knights had understood something wasn’t right. It was the tension of the air, the clacking of tongues to push their horses even faster. The thin calmness Sorey had tried to maintain between the knights was gone.

The rhythmic gallop of Sorey’s stallion made Mikleo’s necklace bump in tandem against his chest. It flew up and down, in and out of Sorey’s field of vision, free from the folds of Sorey’s clothes. The crystal shone brightly admits the wind and snow, catching Sorey’s attention.

_‘ I remember, Mikleo,’_ Sorey thought as he dropped the reins from one hand and lifted it to grab the pendant, the light still shining through his fingers. Even through the fabric of Sorey’s glove, it felt incredibly warm. _‘I know you’re there.’_

Maybe Sorey didn’t have magical powers like a mage. Maybe the feelings he felt though the necklace where simple conjurings of Sorey’s homesick mind, tired and worried as he was. But he wanted to believe in them, in how real they felt, and in the way they made him feel like he wasn’t alone. It was the same as Boris’ hand on his shoulder earlier, the same as the shelter the Strelka cape gave him.

They gave him the strength he needed to protect everyone.

The knights reached the King’s path not long after, and just one look at it was enough to reassure Sorey that the merchant’s path would have been the safest option.

As they came to a stop, Sorey realized there was almost no difference between being in the open and entering through this new path. Both the merchant’s and the King’s route were earthy paths formed by time into the stone of the mountain, but only the new route gave too many chances for an ambush. The mountain walls with thousands of hiding spots, the open space between them covered in thick snow. And, beyond, as the path curved towards the left and one of the mountain walls ended, an endless fall from a scraped cliff, a sudden end of this world of cold and snow.

Those factors were enough to make Sorey want to order a retreat, but his tongue stayed stuck to the roof of his dry mouth.

“…If we get back, I’m demanding a raise,” Lucas suddenly said, and nervous laughter swiped over the knights. Even Sorey smiled at the absurdity, shaking his head; who even thought about money when adventuring themselves into a dragon?

“Let’s go,” Sorey said then, his horse starting to walk again at a careful trot. “Keep your eyes open, and signal at the first sign of danger.”

“Yes, captain!”

As the knights entered the path, silence fell on them like a boulder. The mountain walls kept the wind and its whistling cries at bay, and even the falling snow seemed to want nothing to do with that small piece of land between rock beasts. The hooves of Sorey’s horse skidded over the frosted snow, and Sorey had to rein it in, white smoke leaving his mouth as he let out a small gasp of surprise.

“Easy…” He whispered, leaning forward to palm its neck. But Sorey’s heart wasn’t one hundred percent in the petting. With the corner of his eye, Sorey was scanning the uneven mountain walls that surrounded them, looking for any piece of rock that could have been pushed by a clumsy boot, for any sound that didn’t come from his knights. The snow ahead of him was clean, untouched.

There were no signs of other people on the path.

“All clear on my end, duck,” Boris said. His eyes were scanning the right side of the mountain wall, even as he spoke.

“Yes, same here,” Kyme said from the left. He did turn towards Sorey though, a soft smile on his lips. “Think we could make it to one of the villages today? I could go for some of that _special_ Drago stew.”

Sorey smiled. Drago stew was a tradition of the Winter Training, one in which they could only indulge when they got far enough from the knights’ base and had to stay the night in one of the sparse villages of the North. There was nothing like a bowl of warm Drago stew after a long, cold day.

“Probably not before sundown,” Sorey replied, already imagining himself curling his hands around the wooden bowl. “But if the wind eases once we make it out of the path, we might not have to spend the whole night outdoors.” It didn’t take long for Sorey to reach that conclusion. The map perfectly memorized in his head let him know that the small village of Laos wasn’t as far from Rayfalke as it seemed. But then he blinked, looking at Kyme with confused eyes as he thought back on his words. “Wait… ‘special’? Since when is it called like that? Why do you say it’s special?”

“Because of the brandy, duck,” Boris replied succinctly. “The marvelous brandy.”

“Since when does Drago stew have brandy in it!?”

Kyme laughed, the warmest thing in that frozen land. He was still smiling when he said: “Since forever, but you were always too young to have any, Sorey. But maybe they will make an exception now, since you’re the ca—“

The arrow went straight through the back of Kyme’s neck and through the front, spraying blood over Sorey’s face. Kyme’s face contracted, a grim remnant of the smile he had just been showing, and then the speed of the arrow made him topple over the side of his horse’s neck and to the ground.

Dead.

“K—“

“Archers!”

Sorey sat frozen on top of his horse, watching as the blood seeped into the snow, pooling under Kyme’s body with a speed that made Sorey feel dizzy. It was Boris who shouted the warning, reaching out and pulling at Sorey’s reins to make him snap out of it. Sorey turned wide eyes onto Boris, shaking on his saddle even though he couldn’t even feel it. _Kyme_ …

“Captain!” Boris shouted in his face, pulling up a long sheet of iron to cover his and Sorey’s head with. Around them, arrows fell and ricocheted against Boris’ shield, as the cries of the knights rose in their desperation. “Orders, captain!”

Right. Right. Sorey was the captain. He had a whole troop of knights, and they were in danger. He couldn’t lose it right now, he wouldn’t—

“Retreat!” Sorey shouted, pushing Boris’ shield away and turning his horse back towards his knights. His voice sounded steady and firm, but it clawed at Sorey’s insides on its way out. “Everyone, retreat, _now!”_

The scared neighs of the horses mingled with the shouts of the knights. Sorey rushed forward, his quick reflexes allowing him to dodge his comrades right and left. He reached back to grab his own shield, lifting it up right as an arrow passed, buzzing by his left ear, but even then he saw his friends start to fall under the rain of arrows past the edge of his shield.

“Retreat!” Sorey shouted again, more a desperate plea than an order. Another arrow bounced off the hardened steel of his shield, grazing his shoulder. Sorey didn’t even notice it.

“Fucking hell, we’re trapped!” Someone shouted up ahead, bringing their horse to a skidding halt. Lucas, his shield lifted overhead and his axe firmly grasped in his other hand, looked towards the entrance of the path, where the enemy clustered and blocked their escape. His eyes were fierce and angry, the flames of a thousand battles dancing in his irises.

Sorey’s heart fell to the bottom of his chest as he slowed down his horse as well. It lifted its legs anxiously on its spot, making Sorey rock in his saddle. “We’ll push forward then!” He shouted, and lowered his shield to point with the tip of his sword towards the enemy. “Onward!”

The cry of the knights in response made the mountain walls shake. The thundering sound of their galloping horses brought the snow that clung to the rocks falling down, slowing the firing of the archers. It was all the time they needed for Sorey’s archers to get ready, Boris among them, who spurred his horse forward until he was riding at Sorey’s left. He lifted his bow high, leaving himself suspended in a moment of vulnerability that would have left anyone cowering in fear—and then Boris let go, the arrow flying at the speed of light towards the enemy archers, pushing against the wind as it flew up, up, up…

A moment later, the mountain wall crumbled under the strength of the explosion.

Sorey felt the heat of the fire lick against the right side of his face, but didn’t slow down. He didn’t even blink when the same thing happened at his right side, but he did let go of his shield once the fire subsided, throwing it like a flying disk and bringing down two enemy archers that were trying to run from the falling debris. Behind them, the dragon that was Rayfalke Spiritcrest roared, and boulders the size of Sorey’s entire arm started to fall into the path, blocking the northern end of the path.

It was a necessary evil; at least they didn’t have to worry about the archers anymore.

But the group of enemies at their front was still trouble. Sorey watched their small forms get bigger and bigger as he galloped straight towards them, watched them brace their feet firmly planted on the snow and their own weapons raised. Next to him, Boris lowered his bow and reached for his own sword, looking at Sorey briefly with the corner of his eye before looking straight ahead.

Sorey gripped his saddle tighter with his knees. They were almost on the enemy. Only a few more feet.

Just a bit more—

Just a bit—

Sorey jumped off his horse just two seconds before it collided against the first row of the enemy group, leaving them no time to dodge the animal before its powerful legs ran over some of the enemy knights. Sorey didn’t stay to watch the carnage; he had enemies of his own already upon him, lifting their weapons towards Sorey with an outraged cry. He didn’t make them wait, running over the frozen snow and letting the uneven terrain aid his movements to dodge a machete flying for his head, using his momentum to turn around and drive his sword into the edge between two pieces of armor, the blade cutting through fabric and skin and life.

He didn’t dwell on it. That would come later, with the guilt and the sadness as he washed his hands free of blood, like after any other battle. Feelings like those Sorey was so prone to didn’t have a place in the battlefield. It was kill or be killed, leaving the mourning for those who actually made it out alive.

With the magic of the generic amulets on him, Sorey was a blur amongst his enemies. He wasn’t much faster than them, but he was fast enough for luck to be on his side. He saw an open neck before he even assessed his next opponent, saw blood flying and falling on tainted snow only when he was already battling another knight. They got him too, at times, tearing at his skin with their weapons, sending blows at his legs to make him lose his equilibrium, but the power of the mages kept him on his feet. Everything around him had slowed down, allowing him that calmness in battle that made the difference between life or death.

And then Sorey turned, just in time to see Mason fall.

His own headband blocked the scene for a heartbeat, but he knew, the moment he saw the sword angled down towards Mason’s chest, that it was fatal. The iron cut through the _kamui_ like butter, from underneath a collarbone through Mason’s backside, tearing apart all the things that kept Mason on his feet. His knees crumbled under the weight of the sword, but the terrible angle of the weapon inside of him kept him standing, even as a gurgle of blood raised to his mouth and fell down his chin, red as his hair.

Sorey froze just shy from reaching Mason, the amulets he wore shattering with his heart.

“Mason!” Sorey shouted, the pain from the crystals cutting his skin making him move once again. The knight who had gotten to Mason turned, but Sorey didn’t saw them. They were a figure, a human shape that had tore apart one of the things Sorey cared for the most. With a forceful movement, the figure snapped its arm back and the sword pulled out from Mason’s body, bringing up another arc of blood before Mason crumbled to the snow like a flower.

He was all red. From his hair to his _kamui_ to his blood.

And red was all Sorey saw.

He reached out instinctively, grasping at that warm pulse that didn’t belong to him but always accompanied him. Mikleo’s magic responded to the plea as easily as ever, enveloping Sorey in a shroud of swiftness and protection so familiar that it helped to clear his mind a bit. But by the time he was aware of it, Sorey had already pierced through Mason’s killer, his sword as red as the snow underneath his feet. The body fell to the ground and Sorey with it, to his knees, sword dropping by his side as he carefully lifted Mason up onto his lap and held him close with his arms.

He was alive. His pulse was almost impercetibleunder Sorey’s fingers, his eyes unfocused and his skin pale, but he was alive.

And he was broken. So, so broken.

“Mase, Mase…” Sorey started to whisper softly, holding Mason close as his warm blood, dampening Sorey’s _kamui_ , kept the chill of the snow at bay. “You’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna— Help! Somebody help us!”

The world around them was a chaos of dirty snow and iron clashing. Sorey clung to Mason tighter, watching without seeing the mayhem around him, the undistinguishable forms of friends and foes. They were falling, dying, but Sorey wouldn’t have been able to say who _‘they’_ where.

He shivered as he bit on his lip, looking down towards Mason once again.

“I’m sorry,” Sorey whispered softly, even as his hands moved to press against one of Mason’s wounds, trying to keep the blood in to no avail. “Mase I’m so, so sorry, please—“

Mason’s eyes opened wide, a silent cry of pain. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out of it, only the faint glimmer of fresh blood on his tongue. It slipped from the corner of his mouth onto his cheek, rolling onto Sorey’s knuckle, and Sorey shivered with helplessness.

“Please, forgive me,” Sorey lowered his head until the ends of his long feather earring brushed against Mason’s cheek. “I’m so so— _!!”_

A push to his chest sent Sorey rolling backwards, the strength in it so surprising that he could do nothing but watch his world roll around. He suddenly felt cold at the loss of Mason’s body in is arms, and the stark contrast with the snow on his neck was enough to make him roll onto his knees, and freeze.

Someone had tried to sneak up behind him as he had been holding Mason. Someone with a weapon raised, ready to cut Sorey down, taking advantage of his pain and confusion. And Mason had seen them coming over Sorey’s shoulder, pushing Sorey out of the way with his last tendrils of strength, protecting him.

Taking the fatal blow for him.

Mason died silently, the sound of his last breath drowned by the sound of the iron sword being pulled out of his body. His eyes closed, mouth slightly open, he finally seemed to be resting from the fight.

Sorey screamed.

“Mase!!”

The enemy turned towards him, weapon in hand. Sorey didn’t see anything about them, couldn’t see beyond its humanoid form. They were nothing more than a blur of iron, and red, and darkness and purple, moving fast enough for Sorey to know that if he didn’t move, _now,_ he was done for.

But Sorey didn’t move.

The enemy in front of him raised their arm, edge of the sword aimed towards Sorey.

But Sorey _couldn’t_ move—

A golden flash descended amidst the snow and wind, talons first to bury them in the eye sockets of the enemy, making them scream. Sorey gasped at the sound of wings fluttering, finally snapping out of the haze of his mind as Mao cawed loudly and attacked again, scratching at every surface of skin he could reach. The enemy tried to bat him away with their sword, but Mao wouldn’t let go. Not even when Sorey rose to his feet, finding his sword and clutching it tight in his hand.

This couldn’t go on, he couldn’t let it go on. He had promised, back in the plain, back at home, that he would protect them all. Maybe he had failed Mason, and Kyme, and many others already, but he wouldn’t let it go on.

He wouldn’t lose anyone else today.

_‘If only I was faster, stronger,’_ Sorey thought as he moved his body into the familiar position of an attack. _‘If only I could do this on my own, keep them away from harm,_ save _them—‘_

_‘I have to save them.’_

The power inside Sorey that wasn’t his own rose to the call, once again enveloping him in that cloak of raw power that made Sorey feel invincible. There was no blood weighing down his clothes, no melted ice on the Strelka mantle, no pain in his body. Only power, surging inside his veins and feeding him to satisfy his wish and his need.

One of Mikleo’s amulets broke: the purple bead against his cheek.

Sorey moved.

He struck just as the enemy batted Mao with their sword, making him caw in pain. Sorey attacked then, using Mao’s distraction as an opening and slicing through the armor until his sword burst free on the other side of the body in front of him, blood dripping from the tip. There was no rejoice in the killing, no delight. Mikleo’s magic surged Sorey on, wrapping around him tighter like a shield but allowing him to move freely, to carry out his wish.

Sorey didn’t stop to look for Mao. He had to be injured, but he wasn’t on the ground, so that would have to be enough. Around him, chaos was still unfurling, noise cancelling each other until the whole place was a loud cacophony of pain. Sorey continued on; even when a blade pierced through his left side, he used the advantage to roll his shoulder and strike, lethal as a snake. Even when an arrow lodged itself into Sorey’s shoulder, he didn’t look away from his goal.

Protecting those he cared about.

That was all that mattered.

A kick to his ankle brought Sorey down, the action too fast to avoid it. He felt the bone crack, felt it give under his own weight, but he didn’t feel the pain rise up from it. Sorey rolled onto his back and raised his sword in time to stop an axe from falling onto his face, pushing with that borrowed power until the enemy’s eyes went wide, and they could do nothing but cower under Sorey’s strength. Sorey pushed, feeling his enemy’s arms give—

But an arrow took them down first, and suddenly Sorey found himself pushing against dead weight.

Sorey and his enemy fell down onto the snow, neither of them doing anything to stop the fall. The magic around Sorey trembled, reshaped itself, and fell over Sorey with renewed force once again, isolating him from the pain and the cold. Mikleo’s amulets seemed to shine incredibly bright against his skin, Sorey being able to see them even through the layers of his dirty clothes.

They served as a reminder that he couldn’t stop just now.

Protect, protect, he needed to protect—

Sorey hadn’t realized that the body was crushing him until someone lifted them off him, allowing him to breathe again. Sorey had his sword back in his hand in an instant, ready to fight whoever was trying to get a hold of him. But the familiar color of a bright bandana snapped into his field of vision, and suddenly Sorey felt equally familiar hands holding him, touching his cheeks.

But he didn’t feel the coldness of the naked skin against his.

“Sorey. Sorey!” It was Boris, shouting in his ear as he pushed Sorey to move, to react. “Sorey, we have to leave, now!”

“We… we can’t leave,” Sorey said, allowing Boris to pull him to his feet. When his ankle didn’t manage to maintain his weight, Boris rushed to slide Sorey’s arm over his shoulders, his own arm sneaking around Sorey’s waist to hold him against his side. “We have to…”

“Gods, duck, you’re such a mess,” Boris whispered, looking at Sorey with wide eyes. “What… the hell happened to you?”

‘ _Nothing? I feel fine.’_ Sorey thought, and he did. His ankle couldn’t hold him up, but it didn’t hurt. He wasn’t tired, or in pain.

He was fine to continue fighting, so why—

“We have to help the others,” Sorey said as Boris started to walk away. “We have to save everyone…”

“Sorey,” Boris interjected, and the snap of his voice was so harsh that the magic around Sorey rippled with it. “There’s no one left to save.”

No one to save. No one left but the bodies that littered over the harsh terrain and the enemies that were closing in on them. Sorey looked at them all, and once again saw no distinction: only human forms dressed in blood and darkness.

Sorey’s heart was beating fast in his chest. And still, he couldn’t feel the fear.

“Boris—“

One of the forms lunged at them, and Boris dropped Sorey to dive for a long sword half covered in the snow. Sorey used his own to stay up straight, turning around to face his own enemies. There were too many for them, Sorey’s rational brain let him know, but that didn’t seem to sink into him. He felt his strength endless, his body immortal.

Unhurt.

Sorey lifted the sword, and his broken ankle supported him naturally.

Boris was the one to bring down the first enemy. His sword reflected the lights of his mage’s amulets, white and pink and aquamarine, red like a raging fire, their magic making Boris seem like one of the gods in Sorey’s books. The creaking of the snow faded away as Boris’ sword met his enemy’s and the wind picked up, the end tails of his bandana snapping behind him with each swift, deadly movement.

Sorey didn’t let him get too ahead of him. With Mikleo’s magic always present on his skin, Sorey sped at the enemy as they closed in, meeting them halfway in a clash of weapons. The force of it should have been enough to push Sorey back into the balls of his feet, but it did none of the sort; Sorey pushed back almost effortlessly, watching without comprehending as his enemy’s eyes widened, before Sorey delivered the final blow.

But in the end, there were too many enemies. The sounds of battle around them started to die down little by little, until only Boris’ pained gasps and Sorey’s shouts with every blow remained. The circle of dark figures closed in on them, forcing Sorey and Boris to fight almost back to back, the enemy attacks too quick to dodge. Their blood mingled with that of the fallen, dropping to the ground as if to appease the dragon beast.

But Boris was always best with the bow.

Sorey felt more than saw the attack on Boris’ left, the force of it making the magic that shielded him ripple. Boris grunted, a deep sound that Sorey had never heard before, and suddenly there was cold on Sorey’s back where up until now he had been feeling Boris’ body heat. Sorey turned in a split second, watching Boris fall on his side before raising his arms to protect himself from the quick attack of a machete. The blow sent Boris’ sword flying away, leaving him unarmed.

“Boris!” Sorey screamed, but Boris didn’t reply. His naked hands were holding his side sloppily, the blood flowing from the gaping wound too slippery for him to get a firm hold.

It happened in slow motion, but not the kind given by mage magic. It felt different, tasted different, as if the universe wanted this moment to be etched in Sorey’s memory for as long as he lived. Sorey saw, as he battled for his own life, how Boris rose to his knees while still clutching at his side, chin raised in defiance even as his enemy lifted their double swords into the air.

As if he could feel the moment stretching too, Boris turned to look at Sorey. There were thousands of emotions in the familiar green of his eyes, the blood and dirt that clung to his blood and skin not making him any less beautiful that he always was. Sorey’s heart beat once, twice, and then stopped as he registered Boris’ lips moving, forming words that got lost in the wind and the distance that separated them.

And then the world returned to its natural speed, and the double swords descended on Boris’ neck, cutting his head clean from his shoulders and making it fall to the snow.

The magic that shrouded Sorey imploded. It gathered at the bottom of his heart, filling it to the brim, and then it exploded outwards with the force of its next beat, carrying all the pain with it. Sorey screamed, from the force of it and from the pain itself, falling to his knees with his hands pulling at his hair as the magic pulsated out of him, sending enemies and bodies flying, filling him with a strength that he didn’t know what to do with. The world spun, consumed by that bottomless magic, and Sorey felt his insides burn with it, as if he was nothing more than a tool in the hands of something bigger, something stronger than himself that he would never, ever control.

A blow to his head put an end to the suffering. Sorey welcomed the brief second of darkness with open arms, feeling his heated cheek make contact with the cold snow, and then with the hard rock underneath. Another blow to his side sent him rolling onto his back, and when Sorey opened his bleary eyes he found himself laying by Boris’ body, close enough to see the broken pieces of an amulet around his wrist, laying on the space between their bodies. Sorey reached out without thinking, wanting to brush away the broken crystal from Boris’ naked skin, wrap his fingers around his brother’s the way he had done many years ago, on that first night in the exciting but slightly frightening Knights’ Tower. If only he could reach out again, if only he could feel that light reassurance—

A boot descended on Sorey’s chest, making the bones crack. Sorey gasped, or tried to, fighting against the caving of his chest to push oxygen into his lungs. But then the light of an amulet caused a glare in the blade of the sword that hung above his body, and Sorey’s eyes followed it, moving up to those of his enemy’s, catching their gaze as their boot dug deeper into Sorey’s battered chest.

The knight above him lifted their sword over their own head, tip down towards Sorey.

“Long live the King,” they whispered above the wind.

And Sorey saw the familiar colors of red and purple and darkness dance before his eyes before the sword was driven into his chest, piercing through his heart and pushing him back into the rock of Rayfalke.

There was no time to welcome the darkness before it swallowed Sorey whole.

 

* * *

 

Mikleo screamed.

It was the day of the attack to the Academy all over again. He could feel his magic abandoning him, rushing into the earthpulse and towards the distance at a speed that made Mikleo feel as if someone was skinning him alive, tearing stripe after stripe of everything that made Mikleo himself until all was left was raw, blinding pain.

But this time, something was different. The magic wasn’t being stolen from him, but it was _Mikleo_ the one giving it away, pushing it towards the flame that was Sorey with a desperation that he had never felt before. He needed Sorey to have his magic; he _had_ to give it to him, to protect him, to shield him from all the pain Mikleo himself felt deep inside, like an echo of Sorey’s suffering. He drove his magic into the piece of himself that always accompanied Sorey, and Mikleo felt Sorey accepting it easily, almost hungrily, until Sorey stopped accepting it altogether and became something else, a void that served as a vessel for Mikleo’s magic.

Until Sorey ceased to truly exist.

Mikleo was blind to the suffering and death up in the North, but he wasn’t oblivious to it. He felt it, felt Sorey’s desperation, his pain, his need for more power to turn things around. And Mikleo gave, and gave, and gave until nothing was left, feeling a desperation of his own, as if he ceased to reach out for Sorey he would disappear forever.

And then everything stopped, as if the gods had stopped the turning of the world, and Mikleo screamed.

That was what hurt the most, that sudden nothingness. The loss of Sorey’s presence within himself, at the other end of the earthpulse. He was suddenly gone, not a trace, and fire and ice surged under Mikleo’s skin until he himself seemed to stop existing, for a long, long moment.

Mikleo came back to himself with his naked cheek pressed against the soft grass of the Meadow, with hands gripping his arms forcefully. Pain shot up from the points of contact, and Mikleo tried to battle against the hold, not knowing what was going on, but clear in his distaste at the touch. He blinked his eyes open to see his mask laying nearby before he was being carried away, waves of pain rippling from every brush of his _sumari_ against his skin. The world was a mess of fog and pain and the echo of the wind in his ears… and still, his mind kept looking for Sorey’s presence somewhere in the world, curling in on itself when he found nothing.

‘ _Sorey, Sorey, Sorey—‘_

The hands that held him threw him unceremoniously onto the floor, making him scrape his knees on the grass. Mikleo immediately hugged himself around his chest, trying to erase the feel of foreign hands on him, but even his own palms made pain raise up at the touch. He lowered his head though, still looking for Sorey, always looking for him amidst the confusion.

But then a familiar robe stepped into Mikleo’s field of vision, and Mikleo’s head snapped up to meet familiar eyes.

A small ray of hope shone in Mikleo’s heart at the sight.

“M-my King,” Mikleo started to say, and he was surprised at how rough his own voice sounded. Just how long he had been screaming for…? “The knights—The knights need—!”

The King payed him no mind. His eyes snapped away from Mikleo’s to somewhere just behind his shoulder, the hard lines of his features a stark contrast with the softness he had shown back in Mikleo’s chambers.

His order was clear, cutting, and it felt like ice being poured over Mikleo’s shivering form.

“Strip him.”

Mikleo’s heart stopped beating in his chest.

“W— _!?_ ”

Rough hands reached for his _sumari,_ pulling at it hard enough for the hems to dig into Mikleo’s skin. Mikleo moved, fought against it, but the fabric of the _sumari_ was never made to endure the strength of knights. It ripped apart easily, the sound so loud that Mikleo flinched at it, and the torn pieces of fabric did nothing but irritate his already painful skin as they fell away, leaving him naked on the floor.

The idea of being naked in front of the whole Meadow didn’t horrify Mikleo as much as the sight of his own body did. There were strange black marks all over his skin, as if someone had used him as a canvas, drawing curling lines of charcoal all over him. They created shapes Mikleo couldn’t distinguish over his chest, twisting around his thighs, rising up from his wrists to the column of his neck. Mikleo lifted a shaky hand to touch one of the lines that dived into his belly button, letting his finger brush lightly over it.

He was surprised at the coldness he felt, despite how heated his skin seemed to be.

“—Taboo…”

“What?” Mikleo’s head snapped up, but he didn’t see who spoke. He had never seen lines or forms like those, but he didn’t really care about what they were, or what they meant. Not when Sorey had disappeared from his reach, not when the last thing he had felt coming from him was a pain so blinding Mikleo prayed silently for no one to ever feel something like it again—

Something sharp hit Mikleo on the cheek, the force of it so raw that it made Mikleo’s head snap to the side. There was no pain, at first, but Mikleo still felt the cut in the skin, his blood flowing down from his cheekbone like tears. Then pain bloomed, and Mikleo felt burning heat rising from the cut in his cheek to his jaw, bringing bitter tears to his eyes and making his mouth fall open with a gasp.

Mikleo didn’t move his head, but his eyes trailed up, to the figure of the King with the back of his hand still lifted, and Mikleo’s blood dripping from the biggest ring on his finger.

“Get him out of my sight,” the King ordered, and then he turned around with a flutter of his black and purple cape, the red underneath shining like blood on the snow.

Mikleo felt fury rise from deep in his empty chest. He felt himself consumed by it, only fueled with each step the King took away from him. The lines on his body, the blood on his cheek, none of those things were more urgent than the knowledge that Sorey needed his help, _anyone’s_ help, and that the King had turned his back on him without a moment of hesitation.

“ _No!!_ ” Mikleo screamed, rising to his feet with the little strength he had left in him. “You have to save them, you have to do _something!_ They’re dying! I can feel it!”

The hands were back on Mikleo’s arms, trying to push him down. But Mikleo could only see the King’s back, getting smaller and smaller as he walked closer to the Meadow’s door.

And with each step, Mikleo only felt his pain and anger burn deep in him, making him fight against the hold of the knights with everything he had.

“I gave you _everything!”_ Mikleo shouted, spit and desperation leaving his mouth with each word. “ _Everything!_ So you—you have to save the knights of the North. You have to save _Sorey_ —!”

Another blow, this time coming from behind and to the side of his head, made Mikleo choke on his words. The world spun dark and too bright at the same time as nausea rolled into his mouth, tasting bitter in his tongue before his knees gave and Mikleo returned to the grass, unable to move. His body felt too heavy, his eyelids impossible to keep open.

And still, Mikleo watched as the King left the Meadow without looking back once before everything else faded away, and Mikleo sunk down into a void he had never thought could exist.

At last—

Peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the official end of part 1! THE FIC HAS NOT ENDED, NOT BY ANY CHANCE!!! Tune in soon (ish) for the interlude, where some of the questions I'm sure you have will be answered.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! <3


	12. Part 1 - Interlude: To know Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry I couldn't update sooner, finals swallowed me up for two months and it was... horrible. But! Here I am, with the bridge between parts 1 and 2, the interlude! Now that I'm on summer vacation, I'll be able to post a little bit faster, hopefully! Still, I'm not going to promise you guys just that, I think it's been proven that I can't make that promise...
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this (short-ish) chapter! Happy reading!

Rose thought she knew everything about death.

She had been six when she had seen her first corpse. A horse from a neighboring farm had gone on a rampage, destroying fences and bucking into the sides of carriages. But a man had tried to stop it, making the mistake of jumping in front of it, and the animal had reacted the same way it had with the fences and the carriages; it crushed the poor man under its powerful hooves.

The body hadn’t looked pretty, once the dust settled, but Rose hadn’t been able to look away from it.

After that, Rose’s encounters with Death had been less rural and far more brutal. A dagger to a woman’s neck when she had been eight; an arrow through an older man’s eye, barely a few months after that. Her own adoptive father, at ten, dead from the strength behind someone else’s knuckles and a knife between his shoulder blades. And then came so many that she lost count, the scenes and the bodies piling up in her mind until they all lost their uniqueness, and Rose started to look at Death in the eyes and dared to take her hand. Blood started to coat her fingers instead of simply the soles of her boots, and Rose became very familiar with the weight of a knife in her palm.

And still, despite all the death Rose had known, despite all the death Rose had _brought_ — she had never seen something like this.

The rough weather of the past few days had turned the prairies of Rayfalke into an ocean of white. Now that the winds had stopped, and even the sun kept fighting to shine through the thin clouds overhead, Rose was able to see the white open space surrounded by the tall mountains that formed the Spiritcrest.

Able to see the hundreds of half-covered bodies, their coagulated blood around them turning the white landscape into an eerie crimson color.

“What the hell—?” Eguille muttered under his breath, but not low enough for Rose to not hear him. If Rose knew death, it could be said that Eguille had had a romantic relationship with it; a deep, cruel relationship that had taken from Eguille more than it had ever given him. So Rose knew her instincts were right when even Eguille was dumbfounded by the sight of the field.

Talfryn ran forward, separating himself from the group and jogging to the closest body, his feet sliding on the frozen terrain. Rose saw him bow respectfully once he reached the body, and lean down to brush the snow away as he muttered a soft prayer— only for his eyes to grow slightly wider, more in surprise than horror.

“It’s a knight of Glenwood!” Talfryn shouted, and then he looked around to peer at the other bodies close to him. “They are all knights!”

“Knights?” Eguille shouted back, eyebrows shooting up. “We had no reports of any battle happening, or even of plans to have one.”

“We’ve been trapped in Hellawes for a couple of days,” Rose said to Eguille, turning away from where Talfryn was still looking at the body. Her tongue moved with her words, but she didn’t really believe much in what she was saying. “Maybe we just didn’t get the memo?”

The unimpressed look Eguille sent her let her know she wasn’t the only one that thought that excuse was bullshit. A bit of snow wasn’t enough to keep the Scattered Bones away from good intel. “Battle strategies aren’t formed in a day,” Eguille said with a sigh, voice coated with experience as his eyes narrowed.. “This isn’t normal.”

The others were already inspecting the bodies, everything done with the utmost silence and respect. Rose observed them by Eguille’s side, feeling something heavy set deep in her chest. She tended to trust in her instincts, but it always left a bitter taste in her mouth when her own instincts weren’t exactly clear on the signals they gave her. “…Yeah.”

Eguille sighed, shaking his head. “Anyway, I’m going to help the others. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

Rose nodded at that, but she didn’t speak again. Instead, she burrowed herself tighter in her winter clothes; she had always hated the winter, the damp snow and the low temperatures, but their trip to Hellawes had been necessary. The rumors about the Empire reaching the capital of the north had spread far and beyond, and the _Sparrowfeathers_ had gone to see how real the rumors were, and if any of the Northerners needed something from a bunch of very fake, but very reliable merchants.

Unsurprisingly for them, everything had been fine. No invasion, no Kuban fighters, just freezing cold locals that had welcomed the group of merchants with open arms and bags full of their savings.

At least that was a silver lining. With what they had earned in the North, and whatever they could find here in Rayfalke to sell later, maybe they could lay low with the side jobs for a bit—

A stronger gust of wind at her back made Rose burrow herself tighter in her clothes. It sneaked past the collar of her coat, touching the bare skin of her nape there where her hair parted. The sensation was unwelcome, in the way everything cold was to her, but still she didn’t move away. Not even when the wind turned to something physical, something that brushed against her shoulder and kept, for a moment, the cold at bay.

With soft annoyance, Rose fiddled instead with the cords of her parka and tightened the hood she was wearing against the back of her neck.

“Well?” Rose asked, voice muffled through her scarf, not looking away from the labor of her friends with the bodies. The silent figure next to her moved, barely a sound of fabric sliding accompanying the movement, and Rose looked down to find a black-stained handkerchief in the palm of a naked, familiar hand. The edges of the fabric damp enough to drip. Frowning, Rose took the handkerchief gently in her own hand, raising the cloth to her nose without hesitation and sniffing it softly. There wasn’t much of a smell to it, but the faint itch in her nostrils was telling enough. “Gunpowder?”

“Someone blocked Mayvin’s path,” Dezel said next to her, taking back the handkerchief. His naked hands didn’t seem too bothered by the low temperatures of Rayfalke. “They used the powder to create a landslide… The snow has mostly covered the rocks by now, but I sensed something wasn’t right.”

“But—“ Rose blinked, looking around. They weren’t too far away from Mayvin’s path, but they were right at the entrance of another path towards the North. Did that mean—

“This one is blocked too,” Dezel said, as if reading her thoughts. “But this one is blocked towards the northern exist, so they had to cross it, and then come back here. Which doesn’t make any sense, obviously.”

Rose shook her head. “How did they even _know_ about Mayvin’s path? _We_ didn’t know about it until, like, five years ago—“

Dezel sighed. The sound made Rose finally turned to look at him, and what she found in his face, she didn’t like one bit. Dezel seemed tired, paler than usual. His sightless eyes, partially covered under his fringe, seemed almost— concerned. That was enough to make a spike of dread course through Rose’s veins, her hands falling away from her pockets as she turned fully towards him. When he spoke, Dezel’s voice and words did nothing to appease Rose’s own concern. “I don’t know, Rose. But I have to agree with Eguille. The energy in this place…”

“What do you feel?” she asked, voice serious. She watched closely as Dezel closed his eyes, his naked fingers stretching at his sides, as if he was trying to reach for something Rose couldn’t see.

“Desperation,” Dezel replied, voice steady, but the frown between his eyes deepened. “Fear. Hopelessness.”

“So… normal battlefield mood?”

“No,” another strong gust of wind followed Dezel’s voice, and Rose shivered again, at the intensity of the single word, and the sharp edge of the gust. “There’s nothing normal about this. It’s almost as if—“

“Boss!” Someone shouted up ahead, and both Dezel and Rose turned to see Felice waving her arms to catch their attention, not very far away from where they stood. “Boss, come to see this!”

Rose started to walk forward, not needing to turn to know Dezel was following her close behind. Her footsteps unsettled the fresh snow, digging prints into the white until the clotted blood was left exposed, turning her footprints a soft pink color. The bodies littered around her, creating a jagged path for her to walk on. The cold had preserved the bodies so well that she could pinpoint the cause of death with a single glance as she moved by.

But she didn’t batter an eye at the blood, at the frozen gore.

Rose knew everything there was to know about death.

“Boss, look,” Felice repeated the moment Rose reached her side, pointing at a ragged piece of cloth that she held in her hands. The bright colors and sturdy material soon brought a word in a forgotten language to the forefront of Rose’s mind. A _kamui_. “They’re… they’re all knights.”

Rose blinked at her, over her scarf. “Well, obviously. This is a battlefield, after all—“

“No, Boss,” Felice shook her head softly, and when Rose noted her expression something cold and heavy settled in her stomach, as if she had just been forced to eat a handful of bloody snow. “These are _all_ Glenwood knights.”

The three of them stayed silent for a long moment, letting the statement sink in. The wind picked up, whistling through the mountains, sounding too much like a lament for Rose’s heart not to react to it with a rapid beat, the cry of something that wasn’t there anymore. This time, when Rose shivered, it was for a completely different reason.

“Are you sure there aren’t any Kuban knights here?” Dezel asked slowly, voice dropping down with severity.

Felice wasn’t bothered by it, shaking her head at Dezel’s tall figure. “Positive. There’s only Royal Guards and regular knights here, all from Glenwood. No sight of anyone else.”

Rose looked around with sharp eyes to assess the situation, adding the new piece of info to what she had already gathered. Considering the open space, it couldn’t have been the kind of ambush where only the surprised side died. There had clearly been a battle here, a clash of swords, blood spilled and souls lost, from more than one side. And the knights of Glenwood were _good_ , Rose knew that first hand. There was just no way they would have fought a battle without bringing at least one enemy down.

When Rose finally moved her gaze back to her companions, she found Dezel already turned towards her, as if expecting a word from her. But even before Rose could open her mouth Dezel nodded in silent understanding, saying exactly what she had been about to with his deep, demanding voice.

“Let’s finish here and leave,” Dezel said, speaking to Felice without turning towards her. “I’ll help.”

“So will I,” Rose replied. Dezel lifted an eyebrow towards her but said nothing, nodding instead and turning on his heels to inspect some of the corpses that laid the furthest away.

“Are you sure, Boss?” Felice asked, looking up at Rose with a slightly worried expression.

Rose sighed, but she also nodded. Usually, her job ended when her target’s body hit the floor; it was the others who took care of everything while she washed her hands, digging into the victim’s pockets in search of anything valuable. The others understood, knew about it without Rose needing to say anything out loud. Sometimes, they would even rush so Rose didn’t have to stay around the body for long. The reason behind it was childish, but it had followed Rose into adulthood, to the point that it had become a habit in the plans of the Scattered bones.

She knew when to leave superstitions behind, however. If Dezel thought it would be best to leave asap too, she wouldn’t be the one to delay their setting off.

“Don’t worry!” Rose said, mustering the most real smile she could ask herself for and making Felice smile back immediately. “Nothing the Boss can’t handle!”

Like Deze, Rose chose to inspect the bodies that laid the furthest away from where the others were already searching. They were scattered over and slightly beneath the snow, those bodies, as if not many of the knights had managed to reach so far away from where the battle had started. Overhead, the sky was turning gray by the second, making Rose thrust her gloved hands under her armpits as she walked among the dead.

_‘I hate the cold so much,’_ she thought loudly in her head, cursing the snow that crunched beneath her feet and bloomed crimson. _‘I hate it, I hate it, I hate—_ ‘

Far away from the entrance to the path, there were a handful of bodies. Their placements over the snow made Rose’s eyebrows lift in surprise as she looked down at them, her feet bringing her to a stop by them. Despite the snow that covered them, it was easy to see that something had pushed most of them backward, as if they had been hit by a bomb. And, at the center of it, where Rose wouldn’t had been surprised to see a charred crater into the earth, laid instead two bodies almost pressed together.

Rose moved forward until she reached one of those bodies, pushing the snow away from it with shaky hands and trying not to think much about it. Then, when the body laid uncovered and free from the white trap that was the snow, Rose couldn’t help but wince at the state of it. It was a knight alright, dressed in a _kamui_ with its front damp and dark with blood, tore apart from the sharp edge of a sword, most likely.

But the most unsettling aspect of the body the gaping wound at its neck, where the head should have been. So fresh that even Rose, so used to death, had to look away.

She didn’t keep her eyes away for long, however. This was another clue, another little secret that would let her know what had really happened here. Ambushes were rarely this cruel; they were supposed to be quick, silent, an objective in mind and a mission driving the sword.

This almost seemed… Personal.

But that didn’t matter to Rose, to the Scattered Bones. Despite her hands being numb under the gloves, Rose undid the _kamui_ with easiness, her fingers digging past the armor in search of any object of value, but coming away empty. Nothing except clotted blood and bits of broken glass.

Nothing except a life ended, and a million of possibilities broken into pieces.

“May these weary bones find their peace,” Rose muttered softly as she rearranged the armor of the corpse, tucking the lapels of the _kamui_ tightly across the chest. She did want to hurry up and be done fast, but there was a weight in her chest that compelled her to lift the headless corpse’s arms and cross them over the chest, giving it the closest to a knight’s burial she could do. A quick scan of her surroundings told her the head was gone, but there was nothing she could do against that.

Not even when the weight on her chest became heavier, almost suffocating.

But with that weight, Rose moved to the other corpse. A sigh became mist in front of her face when she took in the other body, the way it laid on its back, half covered by dirty snow except for the arm that reached forward, towards the headless body. This knight had died reaching for their friend, their fingers shy of the other’s hand.

That, Rose understood. The pain of losing a friend, a pain so acute it made your own pain disappear. But when the idea of bringing them closer together crashed against Rose’s chest like a wave, unbidden and foreign, she shook her head.

Sentimentalism wasn’t her thing. Not when it wasn’t directed to one of her own people.

So then, why was her vision going blurry with tears…?

Shaking her head again, which felt heavy and sluggish, Rose got back to work. She wasn’t surprised when she found more broken glass and stones under the bloody armor, but she did frown when her glove pushed past the lapels of the _kamui_ and against the skin. She could feel warmth through the thick fabric of her glove, kind and welcoming, but completely out of place in such a frozen place. Rose reached blindly and deeper into the knight’s armor, her frown deepening.

She found the source with the help of a well-sharpened knife, cutting through the strongest layers of armor until the body’s neck and torso were left in the open, and another wave of warmth brushed softly against Rose’s cheeks. There, hanging from around the knight’s neck and resting in the base of their throat, was a pendant made of see-through glass, shining with the lights of a small ember that pulsed like a heart. The warmth that came from that small fire was so strong that Rose started to feel her hands tingle in her gloves, sweat pooling in her palms.

And she wasn’t even touching it yet.

‘ _Jackpot,’_ Rose thought, her eyes shining with the light of the pendant, unable to look away from it. An amulet from a mage that hadn’t been broken after a battle was already a miracle, but one with such power… And it _had_ power, Rose could feel the magic in the air, in the back of her teeth. She would have to run it through Dezel first, she thought as her fingers moved around the pendant, but they could probably get something _really_ good for it—

A hand wrapped itself around her wrist, stopping her, and Rose screamed before she even knew what was going on. She could feel nothing except the strength of the hand on her, keeping her close and restrained by the bodies side, and fear so intense that all Rose could do was scream, scream until the cold air of Rayfalke scratched at her throat. But the hand didn’t let her go, the grip only getting stronger and stronger the more she fought against it, and her skin under her coat started to burn from the grip of that hand. For a long moment, nothing else reached her except for that childish fear of the unknown, the undead, ghosts and spirits reaching out to her in their despair to ask why, why them, why them and not her—

But then a voice cut through the fear, soft and weak, and Rose opened her eyes… to find herself looking into the greenest eyes she had ever seen.

“ _Please…”_ the knight she had thought dead until now—that _had been dead_ — spoke to her softly, damp eyelashes darkening their unfocused eyes. “Please…”

And just as easily as it started, it all stopped. The grip around Rose’s wrist went slack, and the arm fell away onto the snow with a soft thud The green eyes of the knight fell closed as the head rolled to the side, hair sprayed around it like a halo.

Rose moved fast then, scrambling over the snow to put distance between herself and the once again unmoving body, her whole body shaking so much that she kept slipping over the frozen snow.

She couldn’t help it; she screamed her lungs out again.

Dezel was by her in an instant, strong hands on her shoulders to keep her still. For a second, Rose battled against Dezel’s hands, too caught up in her fear to realize it was a friend and not a foe, but Dezel caught her hand before she could reach for her knife, moving her to look at him instead.

“Rose. Rose! Snap out of it!”

“It’s—! It’s—!”

“Rose!”

“It’s a _ghost!”_ Rose scream, slapping Dezel’s hands away to return her eyes towards the unmoving body. “That body moved, Dezel! It’s dead and it _moved—!”_

Her voice rose in the air so high that it seemed to pierce through the silence of Rayfalke. Dezel blinked at her for a long second, hand squeezing her shoulder tightly, but he soon turned his head towards the body to see for himself. Despite it all, despite the fear that still turned her legs to jelly, Rose was highly aware of the frown deepening between Dezel’s eyes, and the way his body seemed to be getting tenser and tenser, like a wire. “…No, it’s not.”

“—Huh?”

Dezel paid her no mind. Instead, he moved back to his feet and approached the body, kneeling down next to it over the snow. Dezel couldn’t see, but he still reached forward and yanked the _kamui_ all the way open, so the knight’s skin was exposed to the winter air. “I said,” Dezel started lowly, voice harder than Rose was used to hearing it. And that was saying something, when speaking of Dezel. “That he is _not_ dead.”

“Wha-Bu—“ Rose gabled, pushing herself onto her knees over the snow. “That can’t be! The body was all covered by snow— and this battlefield is at least _days old_ …“

The wind carried Rose’s voice away, but brought no reply back from Dezel. It was easy to fixate her stare on him —Rose had a thing for trying to discern what Dezel was thinking from the tiniest spasms of his facial muscles, even if she did nothing but fail. And she didn’t want to look at the body again; the stillness of it made her think it would jump up again at any second, that it would reach for her again. So she kept her eyes on the side of Dezel’s face, staring intently, watching as Dezel’s unfocused eyes stayed on the body in front of him.

“…You didn’t see it, did you?"

Dezel moved his hand then, fingers lax and hovering over the fallen knight’s chest, not touching the skin. For a moment, Rose thought the movement of his fingers was almost distracted, as if he was just tracing mindless patterns in the air. But then Rose leaned forward, and there, like tattooed on the tanned skin, were thick black lines that curved and crisscrossed over the knight’s whole torso, disappearing past his side, only to reappear again over his shoulders, and apparently down his arms. They followed every dip of a muscle, moved with the knight’s weak breathing, and Rose stared at them for so long that they almost started to seem to move for real, curling in on themselves until Rose started to feel dizzy.

Her heart skipped a painful beat as cold sweat ran down her back.

“…This is bad,” she muttered, not looking away from the maybe-not-so-dead knight.

“It is,” Dezel replied, but he too didn’t look away from the body.

“Since when does Glenwood—?”

“They _don’t_. That’s why this is bad.”

Rose let out a shaky breath that turned to smoke before her eyes, obscuring her view of the dark lines. Still, they remained on her mind, like engraved with hot iron into her brain. “…What do we do?” She asked, turning her head to look at Dezel. Usually, she wouldn’t ask. She would act, sometimes too fast, because she was always sure of what her next step would be.

But, even if she wasn’t a fish out of the water about this sort of thing… Dezel still knew better.

“I hope I don’t regret this,” Dezel said slowly, rising to his feet and leaving the semi-naked knight on the ground. The bright necklace pulsated over his chest, bathing the knight’s skin in a warm glow. “Let’s take him.”

With a few sharp orders, some of the others rushed to them and started to gather the knight with no questions asked, only with a few concerned glances towards Rose. Rose quickly nodded at them, watching without seeing as Talfryn dressed up the knight again with care, as Eguille took in the marks on the knight’s body and his eyes grew wide with surprise.

And as they took him away towards the wagons, Rose felt that feeling that had set over her since finding the bodies leave with him. It left her feeling empty, cold, as if somehow that magical warmth that had emanated from the necklace had been surrounding her too. It didn’t matter that the feelings, that weight in her chest, had been almost oppressing.

The emptiness that left behind when it was gone made her feel like she had intruded into something she shouldn’t have seen.

She looked around herself, at the snow littered with bodies that didn’t wake up, couldn’t wake up; bodies with blue skin and coagulated blood in their gashes. Bodies without souls, and without heads.

Rose thought she knew everything about death.

But maybe she had been wrong all along.

 

* * *

 

Thunder rolled over the high roofs of the Academy, the dark sky bathing the exterior of the castle in jagged shadows. The small pieces of glass that formed the windowpanes seemed to shake with the sound, adding to the cacophony in the otherwise silent room.

Beyond the window, on the grounds of the Tower, the knights continued to train unbothered by the upcoming storm. Assembled in lines of eight, they looked like a terrifying army, striking invisible threats with all the strength of their arms, again and again and again. Their shouts, too, seemed to find their place among the thunder.

King Heldalf observed the knights with a calm expression, not even sparing a glance at the brewing storm.

But a soft knock to the door made him finally turn away from the window, his long, purple cape trailing over the floor with the movement. He didn’t say a word, but the door opened anyway, allowing access to a hesitating mage. Their face was hidden behind a bronze mask and they brought with them the smell of burning incense, the scent invading the room almost instantly, almost irritatingly.

Still, King Heldalf simply blinked at the newcomer, and at the way they rushed to straighten their spine when they found the king’s eyes on them. “Is it done?” The king asked, waiting until the mage had closed the door behind them to speak.

“Yes, your majesty,” the mage nodded, bringing their hands to the front of their _sumari._ Maybe their face was covered, but Heldalf had no problem discerning their expression; the pleased tone in their voice was enough to let him know where the mage’s thoughts laid. “Just as you wished.”

Heldalf almost hated to bring them down from their high horse. “And Lord Mikleo?”

Immediately, any trace of easiness in the bronze mage’s posture disappeared. Their whole body went rigid, their shoulders tensing under the soft material of their robe, and even the mask tilted slightly when a muscle jumped underneath, right on the jaw.

Like before, Heldalf had no problem imagining the expression the mage would be making under the mask.

“Disposed of,” the mage said, bowing their head slightly. And then, with a somewhat more pleased note to their voice, they added: “Just as you wished.”

Still, the uneasiness in the mage’s posture didn’t leave completely, brought by Heldalf’s question and retained by the mage’s own bitterness. So the king moved, soft and silent as the cape trailing behind him, his steps taking him right in front of the mage. It was easy to notice the magic shifting around them, buzzing lowly like the faint sound of a fly’s wings.

Interesting, but nothing like Lord Mikleo’s magic, whose power had sounded like the thunder outside of the castle walls.

Even so, King Heldalf slowly lifted a naked hand, making sure the mage could see the movement through the slits of his mask. The mage didn’t move beyond a small but sharp intake of breath, not even when Heldalf left his thumb ghost over the lower edge of the mage’s mask, right where the hard material met the skin of their jaw. The pad of Heldalf’s thumb brushed against naked skin, and the harsh hairs of an incipient beard.

“Thank you, Lord Emil,” Heldalf said lowly, nothing more than a heavy whisper.

The mage shivered. “I…”

Ruckus at the other side of the door made Heldalf’s attention move away from the mage. The royal wing was big, big enough that no sounds from outside could bother those inside, but the King was in tune with the Academy, with his castle. So he heard the grunts and the rushed voices before the doors to his chambers flew open, giving him enough time to step away fully from the mage.

Through the door, two concerned-looking Royal guards entered while pushing a third body between them, their arms barely managing to keep the bigger person up on their feet. Heldalf didn’t let any emotion show in his face, but his eyes did narrow slightly when he noted the torn _kamui_ , the blood running down tanned skin.

For a moment, Heldalf almost expected to see green eyes looking up at him.

But the wounded knight’s eyes were a soft gray, heightened by the horizontal scar that crossed their face.

“We found him nearly dead on top of his horse by the gate, sir,” one of the guards explained, tightening her hold on the knight when he started to slip down. “He seems to have ridden here from the North—“

“D’n’t worry ab’t me,” the wounded knight grunted, struggling to keep his head up. His eyes were hazy from the pain, his armor stained red and sticking to his body where it should have been falling apart. It was a wonder he was still alive, even more that he was even conscious. “You have to— The North…”

Heldalf moved slowly towards the knight, making a sign for the guards to lower him to the ground. They immediately did so, and the man moaned in pain when his knees touched the carpeted floor. But he still looked up when Heldalf came to a stop before him, looking at him through dirty locks of hair. With the guards’ hands off him, the knight wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep the pain at bay.

“Do breathe easy, my knight,” King Heldalf spoke softly, resting jeweled fingers on the knight’s shoulder. “You are safe now.”

But the knight shook his head, looking up at the king almost imploringly. Blood flooded down from his hairline to pool at his scar, just to trickle down his cheek a moment later, like tears. “King Heldalf— We were… We were ambushed, at Rayfalke. You need to send the troops. We might still… maybe my brothers can still be saved…”

After a moment of silence, Heldalf let his hand fall away from the knight’s shoulder, turning to address the guards instead. “Leave us. No one shall get close to my quarters for the time being.”

Both guards snapped their feet together, their arm rising to cross it over their chest, fists on their own hearts. “Yes, your majesty,” both of them said at the same time, without a sliver of hesitation.

As soon as the guards were gone, Heldalf turned to look at the knight once again. Blood was pooling on the carpet around him, emanating from a body that should have been dry by now. But Heldalf could feel the echo of the amulets’ magic working on the knight, amulets that hadn’t broken during the battle, but that were doing their part now by keeping the knight away from the claws of death.

Still, when Heldalf stepped even closer the echo disappeared, and only the faint sound of amulets breaking apart filled the silence between both men.

That is, until the knight groaned again, this time more out of impatience than pain. “Sir, _please._ It… was already a bloodbath when—when I left. Every second that— _fuck!—_ Every second that we waste means another life lost!” The words seemed to bring more pain to the knight as he spoke, but he still pushed them out of his mouth with the last of his strength, scrunching his eyes shut against the pain. “We have to…”

“What is your name, my knight?”

“L-Lucas,” the knight replied softly. Through the pain in his eyes, the king saw a flash of something, something obstinate. “You have to save my comrades, please—“

“Do not worry anymore, my knight,” The king continued, straightening up. With a soft movement of his hand, Heldalf beckoned Lord Emil closer, who walked past him to stand by the knight’s side. “I will do everything in my power to do so.”

Lucas lowered his head, his shoulders shaking softly under his undone hair. “Thank you…”

“Do not worry,” The king repeated, hands coming together behind his back, chin tilted up. “The kingdom will know of your role in the North.”

The relief Lucas was feeling was short-lived. With the little strength he had left, Lucas lifted his head to look at the king, his eyes narrowing with confusion and utter exhaustion. “What…?”

“Rest,” Heldalf interrupted him once again, voice soft. Lucas’ body seemed to want to obey the order more than anything else. “Let the mage heal you, my knight. Thank you, for your service.”

With silent steps, Lord Emil positioned himself behind Lucas’ crouched form, leaning forward slightly, hands at each side of Lucas’ head, never touching. A beat passed, but soon Heldalf felt the magic brewing in the room, the buzzing of the fly getting stronger, the still-disturbed earthpulse under their feet feeding the mage’s wishes despite it all.

When the healing process began, Heldalf saw Lucas wince at the pain as his wounds stitched back together, running blood losing its source and broken bones rearranging themselves as if nothing had ever happened. There was great discomfort in the knight’s face, a cry lodged in his throat from the pain the magic caused in his body, but there was relief too; the pain he had been in until just now had been so acute that even the Hellfire felt like a small blessing.

Every trace of battle or loss disappeared under Lord Emil’s power. The room buzzed with it, tingling at Heldalf’s fingertips, but barely making a dent into the earthpulse’s power. Disdainfully, Heldalf thought back to the possibilities he had envisioned not so long ago, with a mage clad in blue at his side, his power so raw and _delightful_ that Heldalf had felt it like a strong beat inside his chest. Compared to that, the power of the mage in front of him was nothing. Lord Emil’s power was nothing but a shadow of the possibility.

And even when the knight started to choke on that power, Heldalf thought it would never be enough.

Pain and desperation bloomed on the knight’s face. Heldalf watched with impassive eyes as Lucas fell to the floor, curled in on his side as he screamed, his body instinctively putting distance between himself and the source of the pain. But Lord Emil had never needed to touch him. The mage’s magic continued its natural course, from earthpulse to mage to target, and Lucas screamed when Emil’s power reopened his wounds one by one, the hellfire licking at them until they grew and grew, and the ends of one wound became the beginnings of the next.

Blood poured out onto the carpeted floor, and the knight’s cry was cut by a gurgling sound; he was choking on his own pain and on his own blood.

Heldalf blinked slowly. When he opened his eyes again, it was over.

Lord Emil fell to his knees by the dead knight, gasping for air. His hands shook there where he dug in nails onto the carpet, sweat pooling at the upper edge of his mask before dripping right in front of him, between his twisted fingers. The sound of his ragged breath substituted that of the buzzing of his magic.

Heldalf didn’t move closer to the mage; his eyes didn’t even linger on him for long.

Instead, he turned in time to see the door opening again, the two guards from before stepping into the room with chins raised. One kept her eyes on the king, but the other spared a look at the body of the knight on the floor, its fresh blood still flowing over his ashen skin.

None of them reacted beyond that; after a brief inspection, he too turned to Heldalf, awaiting orders.

“Get rid of it,” King Heldalf said, not even raising his voice. “Discreetly.”

The guards nodded, and started on with their work. They only left a dark stain on the floor when they were done, but that too would be gone before the storm had even passed. The only disturbance in the room anymore was Emil’s still labored breath, whose hands had gone now to his chest, as if he was trying to claw something out of it. His mask sat askew on his face, his veil almost fallen off completely.

Heldalf turned his back on him, walking back to his window, even when Emil softly called out to him. Outside, the sky seemed darker, heavier, but the knights kept training still, their focused energy unwavering.

The room smelt of blood and sweat now.

The familiarity of the scent brought a hum to the King’s lips.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you guys in Part 2!


	13. Part 2 - Chapter 1: Icarus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in the same month? Could this be??
> 
> Happy reading!!

 

There was no waking up for Mikleo.

Not exactly, at least. There was just darkness, deep and heavy, keeping him down. There was darkness and there was ice, biting at his cheeks like needles, like a badly-adjusted mask. The cold wasn’t better than the darkness but at least it was something—a sensation among the nothingness.

Mikleo was aware of it, but he hadn’t regained consciousness yet. He was cold. His skin burned. His chest felt empty, as if someone had reached inside of him and pulled, pulled at anything they could reach. Muscles, veins, organs, bones. All gone.

All dead.

And then Mikleo blinked, feeling his dry eyes hurt to the very core of his retinas, finding himself awake. And it was as if a switch was turned on again, with every emotion, every bit of pain coming back to Mikleo in waves like a ravenous sea, pulling him away from the shore.

Mikleo opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came. He tossed and turned over a hard surface, clawing at his chest with blunt nails, not even registering when he tore at his own skin instead of the fabric of his _sumari._ It hurt. There was nothing inside of him that could hurt but still the pain burned at him, an emptiness so raw that Mikleo thought it would swallow him whole.

‘ _Sorey—‘_ Mikleo called out without a voice, reaching out for his friend’s comforting presence, the piece of him that always resided within Mikleo; always so far away and still close enough to warm his core. ‘ _Sorey—!’_

The emptiness surged up, rolling over Mikleo to bring him down to the seabed. There was nothing for Mikleo to reach out for, nothing to reach out _with_ , and Mikleo felt the gaping hole in his chest like a wound, like a bloody, ragged hole that poured out the little that was left inside of Mikleo… Until Mikleo was nothing but a shaky mess, sweating over rough fabric until the darkness came to meet him, and Mikleo accepted it with open arms.

 

The next time Mikleo woke up, he did so without pain.

But there was a dull ache behind his left eyebrow, going down deep into his eye-socket. His limbs felt heavy and slow, the mere act of curling his arms closer to his chest feeling like a feat. There was a strong smell, and Mikleo knew it came from him; but, underneath, there was the familiar taste of a closed-off room, and the itchiness deep in his nose from unsettled dust.

He laid there, wherever he was, for a long time. Never moving. Barely breathing. But remembering, in flashes of confused color, everything that had happened. The reason why his body felt like lead, why his cheek tingled and stung, there where the rest of himself was almost numb. He remembered the Meadow, how warm and alive it had felt when the praying began—and how heartless and cold it had felt when his grip on Sorey had started to loosen. He remembered, clear as water, how his throat had burned as he had screamed at the King’s back for help, his own blood rolling down his cheek to drip onto the soft grass. He remembered foreign hands that kept him down, and the soil underneath scratching at his knees.

He remembered the emptiness, more than anything, and the pain that came with it. And he did so with such clarity that Mikleo froze at the idea of trying to bridge it again, to try and peek into the abyss.

But he had to. He needed to find Sorey; even if Mikleo couldn’t move, even if he couldn’t speak. Finding Sorey, feeling his warmth again under his skin, was Mikleo’s priority. He needed to know he was okay, that he was safe. It didn’t matter where in the world, Mikleo would find him.

The pain came back as soon as he started. Like running a mile on a cold mountain, like holding your breath under rough waters, Mikleo felt his chest heave and burn so savagely that he could do nothing except curl in on himself and cry. A scream pierced his throat as tears spilled past his eyelashes, and Mikleo recoiled from the earthpulse so fast that his whole world tilted and blurred, enough to make him sick.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t reach for the magic that had always felt completely natural for him anymore. And he couldn’t reach for Sorey, alone and dying out there in the world, _needing_ him, because—

Because there was no magic left inside Mikleo. It was gone with Sorey’s presence, carried away by the icy gusts of Rayfalke.

Mikleo’s heart and mind fought to come to terms with losing so much in so little time, and he found himself unable to. So Mikleo continued to lay there, on his side, letting the aftershocks of pain and nausea roll over him and letting the thoughts settle into his very soul.

_Sorey is gone._

_I have no magic to bring him back, to heal him._

_Sorey is_ gone.

 _My magic is_ gone.

_I have nothing left—_

Minutes turned to hours, day into night. Mikleo only realized the passage of time by the moving glare of the sun, coming through a window by his back, the uneven shadows of the window frame projecting onto the wall in front of him. He could have tried to move his head, see where he was, but he didn’t have the strength for that.

But Mikleo was never one to wallow in self pity for long. He found the strength to move by the time the shadow of the windowpane had disappeared, and the room was mostly dark. The shadows, and the chill of the night, helped his heated body to move, his tired muscles hurting right underneath the skin. But still Mikleo moved, uncoiling his body and letting himself move up from the bed he had been laying on for hours — maybe days.

As he rolled his shoulders to shake off the stiffness, Mikleo looked around through the darkness. He was in a small room, completely unfamiliar, and stripped of anything that could resemble a mage’s room in the Academy. The mage’s rooms were bare as they were, but this room felt even emptier, completely dominated by a single, narrow bed in the center, and a rickety desk with its chair against the opposite wall. A sole window gave the room some clarity, but there were two doors in different walls, one left opened slightly ajar, the other completely closed.

With shaky legs, Mikleo went to this last one, already expecting it when he grabbed the doorknob and found it stuck. Still, Mikleo used all the strength he had to try and force it to move, the sound of metal rattling against the wood filling the room so quickly that, if he didn’t manage to open the door, Mikleo knew that the noise would alert someone, at least.

“Hey—!” Mikleo tried to shout, but his voice barely made it past his lips. He tried again, but this time his throat closed off, too parched to even speak. So Mikleo tried to use his other hand to bang against it, never stopping his fiddling with the doorknob.

No one came. When his arm started to feel like it was going to fall off, Mikleo stepped away from the door with a sigh, resolving to try again later.

He wanted to tear down the door. He wanted to scream, to run outside, beg anyone to help the knights in the north, and find Sorey. But his weak body betrayed him once again, and he barely had time to go back to the bed before his knees failed him, shaking even after Mikleo was seated on the edge of the mattress.

For the first time in his life, Mikleo resented the mage’s lifestyle.

But he didn’t allow himself to continue thinking down that path. He wasn’t allowing himself to think about much, actually. There was too much to process, too much to realize, and Mikleo was scared it would bring him back down onto those sweat-soaked sheets, back down into the darkness. So Mikleo continued exploring the tiny dark room, letting his hand guide him along the walls as soon as he was able get back to his feet again.

The first thing he realized was that he had been right. The room was naked except for the scarce pieces of furniture. Naked walls, naked floors, naked ceiling. A chill penetrated past the stone walls, making the temperature of the room drop fast. There wasn’t a wardrobe Mikleo could investigate, not even drawers on the desk. Just a hard, flat surface… and a table.

His slow steps carried Mikleo to the window, finally. The darkness spread outside too, never once allowing Mikleo to see; but at least he knew he was high on a building—the tops of the trees stayed below his field of vision, silhouetted against the starry, night sky. A small moon covered the tips in silver, but wasn’t strong enough to illuminate further down, or farther away.

Mikleo didn’t recognize the forest surrounding the room. It wasn’t the training fields, the top of the knight’s Tower wasn’t visible—and the ever present figure of the Meadow, its glass structure always glowing softly, was nowhere to be seen. And that could only mean one thing.

Mikleo wasn’t at the Academy anymore.

The fact left Mikleo with a strange set of emotions in his chest. For one, it had been more than a _decade_ since he had set foot outside of the Academy grounds. He had always felt safe between those stone white walls, and not having them around himself was suddenly terrifying enough for Mikleo to want to step away from the window.

But his cheek stung, and the emptiness within himself where his magic had always resided seemed to throb in tandem with his fear. Did Mikleo even belong there, anymore? With no magic, with the mark of the King’s ring on his skin, deep from the force of the blow…

Mikleo shuddered, and finally stepped away from the window.

 _One thing at a time, Mikleo,_ Mikleo thought, letting out a shaky breath. _One thing at a time._

In the darkness, Mikleo decided to investigate the remaining door, the one that was open. He pushed his way inside, pretending he hadn’t flinched at the loud sound of the hinges creaking. It was an even smaller room, with something big taking most of it, a couple of smaller things, and something else propped against a wall that reflected the moonlight coming still from the window.

It was a bathroom. It smelled like rusted iron and dust, but it had a bathtub, a toilet, a basin, and a full body mirror.

The sight of something so simple, so mundane, brought a relieved sigh out of Mikleo, and some of the tension in his body melted away.

The part of him that wasn’t trying to push the grief away was dying for a bath.

But now wasn’t the time. He needed light, for he knew he would be able to set his mind straight if he could keep the darkness at bay for a while. So Mikleo started looking around for anything he could use, moving slowly around the tiny room. There was little to nothing, though. The legs of the chair by the desk could have served him as a torch, but he had nothing to ignite it with. The walls were bare, no oil lamps or even candles; but again, he would have had the same problem. The only piece of cloth in his room were the sheets that covered his bed. No curtains, no blankets, no nothing.

Mikleo sighed again, and a cloud of white smoke puffed in front of his eyes.

He would worry about that later.

Instead, he sat down on the chair, because he couldn’t handle the idea of sitting down on the bed again, and looked down at himself. The faint moonlight wasn’t enough to see clearly, but Mikleo’s eyes still caught a few things. One, that his _sumari_ was torn apart, the upper part barely clinging to his waist, and his pants were splotchy with soil stains. His mask was gone, and so was his veil, but he didn’t need light, or even to look, to realize that. He was barefoot, and could feel the cold stone under his naked feet.

But under the faint light, he did get to see the dark lines that curled over his chest to disappear under the rags of his clothing, deep and frightening like Mikleo had always imagined the ocean to be. They didn’t hurt when Mikleo moved, but the skin around the edges of the lines did feel numb under his fingertips, almost cold. Mikleo traced a line that rose to swirl over his heart, and then pressed his whole palm against that point, feeling his heart beating fast under the black, under the skin.

In his messy memories, Mikleo remembered someone looking at him and spatting the word ‘ _taboo’._ Mikleo had never heard of taboos in the mages’ culture beyond their rules about personal contact, but he knew this had nothing to do with that.

And everything to do with what he had done to try to save Sorey.

It had been an agonizing few minutes, but they had stretched until they seemed like hours. He remembered, clearly, the hunger with which Sorey had fed off his magic, and the mirroring need of Mikleo to give it to him, no matter what it took, no matter what it caused. Mikleo had never felt something like that before, had never been able to _do it_ , even— But it hadn’t felt alien to him. Sorey had needed him, and Mikleo had tried to be there for him, do anything he could to help Sorey through time and distance…

Until it didn’t work anymore. Until Mikleo’s magic wasn’t strong enough and it snapped, severing Mikleo’s connection to Sorey, and leaving him blind to whatever was happening to him.

 _But he has to be there still,_ Mikleo thought, pressing his knees against his chest, his hand getting squeezed in between, still over his heart. Mikleo couldn’t even think the word ‘ _dead’,_ so he didn’t. _I can’t reach for him, but he’s strong on his own._

_He will be back—_

Rapid footsteps echoed at the other side of the locked door, the rhythm making Mikleo think they were going up a set of stairs. Mikleo rose from the chair quickly enough to get dizzy, but he didn’t let the feeling get to him. He gripped the edge of the desk until the moving spots in his vision faded away, and then moved to the door, already feeling anger brewing deep in his stomach.

Someone had locked him in a dusty room, stripped away from his colors.

He wanted answers and he would get them _now._

He arrived at the door a second before the other person did. Curling his hands into fists, Mikleo started to pound on the door, making it shake in its place. On the other side, the footsteps stopped, and Mikleo took the opportunity of the silence to speak.

“Where am I!?” He asked with a rough voice, swallowing down the pain and the exhaustion and swapping them with purpose. “What the hell is going on, where are the knights!? Did they make it safely back home? Are they okay?”

“I…” the soft voice reached him through the door, the last breath hinted with hesitation. Mikleo groaned and banged his fists against the door again, punctuating the sound with a knee to the wood.

“Please!” Mikleo shouted again. He probably should give the person some time to process Mikleo’s questions, but he himself didn’t have that privilege. It was as if all of his doubts wanted to be resolved first, so they all tried to pour out of his tongue at the same time, throwing themselves at the only source possible. “Just— Did the knights come back? Are they alright?”

“I—I’m not supposed to speak with you,” the voice said, and Mikleo realized he didn’t recognize it. It sounded young. Terribly young. “I am just here to bring you food—“

“I don’t _care about the food!”_ Mikleo screamed, punching the door again until splinters cut at the sides of his hands. He had never acted like this before, never in his life— but he had never been this scared of losing Sorey before, either. “I just need— Please. Tell me about the knights of the north. _Please.”_

If Mikleo had to beg, he would.

He had already been stripped of everything, what mattered his pride?

“I…” the young voice hesitated, and Mikleo was sure, for a disheartening second, that the person wouldn’t say a thing. But then something shifted, and with a shaky voice, the person spoke. “T-the mission in the north is officially over. They… No one came back.”

“…No one?” Mikleo’s knees trembled, his hands frozen against the door now. “That’s— that’s not possible—“

“It was an ambush,” the young voice said, a hint of annoyance coating their words. “There was a mole among the knights, and Kuba Empire was waiting for them to arrive. The knight had been sending information to the Empire for months.” A few footsteps reached Mikleo’s ears, and soon the voice sounded again, closer than before— and a little bit sad. “No one came back home.”

“No…” Mikleo pressed his forehead against the wood, closing his eyes, eyes that burned with unshed tears. “That—that can’t be true…”

“The mole was a knight named _Lucas,”_ the kid went on, voice always muffled but still high. They were impatient, as if every second spent speaking with Mikleo was important, somehow. “The news were so shocking that the King made a s-statement before everyone. Both mages and knights got to hear it.”

Two things happened at the same time, silently, inside Mikleo’s body. First, the words fell like hard truths on Mikleo’s mind; the King’s word was final, it was law. If it had been the King to deliver the news, they had to be _real._ But then Mikleo’s heart gave a strong beat, and another thought bloomed from the core of his brain, swiping away the first as if it was nothing but dust.

There had been a Lucas in Sorey’s group. How many times had Sorey spoken of all of them, with so much warmth in his voice that Mikleo could do nothing but smile with him? Boris, Sergei, Mason, Kyme, _Lucas._ Mikleo had no way to know if it was the same Lucas, but one thing was sure, as certain as the beating of his own heart.

Knights were brothers and sisters, with bonds stronger than blood. Sorey had taught him that over the years.

They would never betray each other.

The King’s words were not the truth.

“That is not true,” Mikleo spat, opening his eyes. He suddenly felt lighter, as if he couldn’t feel the extenuation in his body anymore. “You speak lies, mage.”

The young kid at the other side gasped. “It is the word of the _King_ —“

“The word of the King sent me here!” Mikleo exclaimed, and he knew that to be true, the way he knew where the cut on his face had come from. “The knights are not like that, child. They are honest and true, they do not _betray each other—“_

 _“_ And how would _you_ know?” The mage at the other side almost exclaimed, letting emotion coat their voice. Mikleo had scared them, scared them enough to make them slip off their role of mage.

Mikleo pressed his forehead back on the wood with a shaky breath. _Because I fell in love with one of them,_ he thought, and the words were like a rusted knife twisting inside of his chest. _And, along the way, I learned to love them all as well._

“…I just know,” Mikleo replied, voice tired, almost choked up. “Do you know why I am here?”

A confused sound. Then. “…No. Do you?”

Mikleo finally, finally, lowered his arms. He almost didn’t feel the blood rushing to the tips of his fingers. “Not really, no.”

There was a heavy silence then. It was so heavy, and so long actually, that Mikleo almost thought the kid mage was gone. That the thunderous beating of his heart had muffled their footsteps, and that Mikleo’s chance to know more had evaporated because Mikleo had forgotten already how to keep the calm of the mages.

But then, a sigh. And Mikleo lifted his head up to look at the door with surprise, as if he was looking at the mage’s mask instead.

“…Whatever you say, it will not change a thing,” the mage spoke again, a little bit further away from the door. Mikleo almost asked them to stay, but their words had made Mikleo’s mouth fall shut with dread. “It has been too long.”

“—Too long?” Mikleo inquired when the mage added nothing else. There was real fear crawling in his veins now, making him shake against the wood of the door, his teeth biting down on the side of his tongue painfully. “Just… Just how long?”

“…More than a week,” the mage said, and they almost sounded sorry. “Since the King’s statement, at least. Probably more since…”

Mikleo’s frantic brain muffled whatever the mage said next. A week. Mikleo’s heart was caught up in those two dooming words, beating at their cadence, breaking at their meaning. A week, locked up in that room. A week, without magic. A week, with Sorey’s presence banished from the world.

If there had ever been a chance to save him, then—

Mikleo felt the bitter taste of bile at the back of his throat. He slid down to the floor as he swallowed down on it, closing his eyes even when tears started to roll down his cheeks anew, silent like the beating of his heavy heart. A week was too long of a time, but also enough for any survivors to have come back home.

And no one had come back.

Mikleo crossed his arms over his chest, palms flushed against his own shoulders. He felt the black marks against his skin, colder than the rest of him, and the taste of bile came back to his mouth with a vengeance.

Sorey was gone. Not only from Mikleo’s reach but _completely gone,_ and there was nothing Mikleo could do about it. Nothing he had done, nothing he had given up, made him able to bring Sorey back to his side, because Sorey was—

He was—

“—Dead,” Mikleo whispered. “Sorey’s dead.”

“Hello…?” The young mage said at the other side of the door, probably surprised at Mikleo’s sudden quietness. But Mikleo didn’t reply. He couldn’t reply, because—

“Sorey’s dead,” Mikleo repeated, again and again, as his insides turned to ash and the emptiness came back to claim its space within Mikleo. “Sorey’s dead. Sorey’s—“

“Hey, um. Hello? A-are you okay?”

Mikleo hid his face in between his knees, arms still around himself. His nails, unbeknownst to him, were digging half-moons into the dark marks on his shoulders. “…No,” he said finally, voice cold. “I’m not okay.”

The doorknob jiggled. At any other time, Mikleo would have jumped up, silently, and would have waited until the door was fully open to leave, to run away. But the idea didn’t even register in his mind; Mikleo was too far gone down that road to react to anything other than the pain.

“Sorey’s dead,” Mikleo repeated, shaking lightly, and that was the only thing he could say, could think.

Death was something Mikleo had thought he was ready for. Sorey’s battles had gotten bloodier over the years, after all, and Mikleo had only gotten stronger to match. He had thought he was ready, if it ever happened—

But you could never be ready for death. Much less for the death of someone like Sorey.

Mikleo didn’t realize he was making a sound until he felt his own warm breath against the back of his arms.

Above, the doorknob jiggled again, more insistently this time. Mikleo had his back against the door, so he felt the way it shook against his spine. But he didn’t lift his head. He kept making that sound, halfway between a cry and a ragged gasp; Mikleo feared the pain from before would rise up again, this time to swallow him for good.

Instead, something sweet and heavy reached Mikleo’s nostrils first, rising up to the forefront of his brain. It didn’t even take a second for Mikleo to identify the smell: it was magic. From the other side of the door, the young mage was trying to make Mikleo fall into slumber, using his prayers to bring sleep to Mikleo’s eyes.

 _But it will not work,_ Mikleo thought bitterly, tilting his head up to glare at the wall in front of him. _I am a blue mage; such a weak magic will never affect me…_

But it did. Mikleo suddenly felt his eyelids so heavy, the feat of keeping them open was harder than anything else. Mikleo felt his head foggy, fuzzy.

He blinked slowly, and the next time he opened his eyes he was laying on his side, back still against the door.

 _Please…_ Mikleo tried to whisper, but his words got stuck somewhere else. Somewhere far away. _Please…_

The magic had its effect, and Mikleo let it work through the fear of the unknown.

 

* * *

 

Sunlight filtered through the uncovered window, trying and failing to banish the cold that had settled during the night.

Mikleo sat up on the bed, feeling his muscles protest. The thin sheets weren’t much cover against the winter; the stone that made the walls of his bedroom helped to keep the cold in, letting it pass through the uneven joints. If he listened closely, Mikleo could hear the wind whistling through, making its way into the room and into Mikleo’s bones.

The room didn’t look much better in the sunlight. It was still dusty, still grim. The dust had unsettled there where Mikleo had walked on the floor, there where he had tossed and turned, where he had cried. Otherwise, the room was gray under the light of the sun, matching the walls and the ceiling.

Mikleo was on the bed. He hadn’t fallen asleep there.

There was an addition to the room, though. A tray had been left on the desk, covered by a thin paper napkin. Mikleo moved slowly from the bed to the desk, carefully peering under the napkin—only to find cold food waiting for him.

Mikleo almost didn’t eat it. The idea of chewing, of swallowing, made him feel sick, cold sweat already clinging to the back of his nape. But his body had other ideas, and before Mikleo could do anything against it he devoured the cold chicken, almost choking on the small bones, licking the salty sauce off his fingers. He didn’t savour it, swallowing it all quickly instead. Then he attacked the bowl of soup, not even wincing at the coldness of it until it was way past his throat and down in his full stomach. It hurt, to be suddenly so full after so long, but Mikleo could only sigh at the feeling. He let himself fall back against the back of the chair, satiated.

It took a lot of control not to vomit it back out. He had eaten too fast, even if it hadn’t been a lot, but it had been a long time since he had had anything solid. Mikleo had no doubt they had been keeping him alive thanks to magic throughout the week, and he was suddenly glad he hadn’t felt a thing.

If such a weak magic as the one of the mage from the night before could knock him out, Mikleo didn’t want to know what a magic strong enough to make him not need food would feel like in his void body.

Once the nausea receded, and Mikleo was sure he would be able to keep his meal in, he gave a cursory look over the room, taking in anything that he could have missed in the dark. But Mikleo only saw what he had seen upon waking up: dusty everything, barely to no furniture, a single window.

He decided that was the most promising thing so far.

The forest outside seemed even more vast under the sun. It was a sea of green spikes surrounding Mikleo’s high room, as if the building he was in was the center of the very forest. He couldn’t see any other buildings in the distance, no trace of smoke from a nearby chimney, not even hear a single sound when he pressed his cheek against the glass. He tried to open the window halfheartedly, and was surprised to feel it give, opening outwards with a creak and falling splinters.

A gust of cold hair brushed against his cheeks, messing with his fringe. The height of the building was even more noticeable now that he was looking down; there was a small corbel jutting out, just out of his reach—but right underneath it was all nothingness, until you reached the hard ground.

Mikleo leaned back and away from the window, letting the chill air wash over his naked skin while he thought, and listed what he knew. He was somewhere elevated. He was surrounded by forest, at least on the side of his window. He couldn’t check the other side, because a locked door kept him trapped in the room. He was isolated, far away from any other inhabited place.

But the mage that had come last night had been little more than a child, based on their voice and their level of magic. And the child had come with a tray of food, where nothing had been spilled.

So the Academy _had_ to be close-by.

He wasn’t far away from home.

The thought made him feel safer. If he was near the Academy, he could navigate himself around. Maybe he wasn’t as good, but Sorey had taught him to read the stars over their meeting place, had taught him how to discern south from north. He would have to wait until nightfall, but Mikleo might be able to tell where he was soon.

 _Thank you, Sorey,_ Mikleo thought, his heart clenching, and closed the window.

That being done, Mikleo went to inspect the bathroom. There wasn’t a light in there, but sunlight spilled just fine into the small room, leaving only the corner with the bathtub in semi-darkness. Mikleo headed directly to it, reaching out to the faucet. He held his breath as he twisted the wheel at the base, wincing at the sound it made—and let out a sigh of relief when warm, clean water poured out of the faucet and into the bathtub.

Mikleo felt tears prickle at his eyes as he felt the steam of the water rise to brush against his skin, but he kept them in.

_Not yet._

As the tub filled, Mikleo noticed the mirror propped against the wall, covered by a thick sheen of dust. Mikleo looked around, trying to find something to clean it up with, but the things he found made him shake his head: there were towels by the tub, and clean clothes; dusty, but much cleaner than any other fabric in that room. So Mikleo sighed and let his _sumari_ fall to the floor, feeling guilt as he stepped out of it, stripped bare. Then he picked it up, made a ball out of the shreds and the pants and, feeling the guilt almost choke him, Mikleo started to clean the mirror with the usually pristine fabric of his _sumari._

The sight that the mirror gave him made him drop his dirty _sumari_ to the floor. Mikleo gasped at his own reflection, watching himself as his jaw fell open, his hands slack against his sides. The black lines he had seen on himself earlier reached further than he had imagined. They twined and curled with themselves over his chest, swirling around his navel, hiding behind the juts of his hips. But they also went higher and lower, circling around the muscles of his thighs like vices, like the tails of a serpent, so the very tip rested softly against his calves. The other ends of the lines moved upwards, from his hip to the small of his back and up, up, up, creating an intricate design over Mikleo’s skin that almost managed to paint a picture in Mikleo’s mind. They weren’t lines painted at random; they created something, some kind of creature.

If Mikleo squinted at them, he could almost see the lines falling over his shoulders and onto his chest as _wings—_

Something warm licked at the soles of Mikleo’s feet, and Mikleo jumped. He turned, only to find the bathtub overflowing, and Mikleo rushed to turn the wheel, closing off the faucet. He sighed, splashing on the tiled floor, but returned to the mirror once again with his hands still on the side of the bathtub.

The lines were incredibly black against his pale skin. Mikleo ran a lithe finger over one of them, and something inside of him supplied a new word to describe them, to describe the chill that bit at his fingers as he traced the marks.

_Dead._

They were the marks of something dead.

Swallowing, Mikleo met the eyes of his reflection. The black lines only reached up to his shoulders, but there was another kind of mark there on his cheek, rising to his eyebrow, red at the edges but already fading into an angry pink. Mikleo touched that one too, but instead of a chill, he felt a sting, strong enough to make him wince and recoil away from his own fingers. The cut had already scabbed over, but he must have touched it at some point, because bits of the scab had fallen off, showing newly dried up blood.

It was a straight line that started over his left cheekbone, moving upwards over his soft eyelid, and dying shy of reaching his eyebrow.

It was a wonder his eye was still intact, under the carnage.

Or maybe not. Maybe it was more—a miracle, rather than a wonder. The mages had had to have healed him, to have stitched the skin together enough for the first signs of healing to push through the angry skin.

It was another sign of his magic being gone. Healing magic had never worked on him, before.

With everything happening so fast, Mikleo hadn’t really given himself time to think about that one mark on his skin. It was one of many now, but the meaning was so different, that it hurt and stung in a different way too. The black lines on his body were a reminder; a reminder of his failure to save Sorey, of how he had reached forward and proven himself not good enough. He would carry them from now on, as if he needed more reason to remember what he had failed to do.

But the cut on his face bled betrayal. He had given up his whole life, his whole being, to a man that had struck him with the back of his hand without a moment of hesitation. Mikleo had been cut open by the edges of the King’s ring, but the wound ran even deeper than it already did; every moment he had spent inside the Academy, every refusal he had spat at Sorey, every rule he had imposed between them— He had done that because he had believed the King to be good, to be kind and just. He had believed in his cause.

And now he could only feel bitterness at him, at the way he had turned his back on Mikleo’s pleas; at the way he had raised his hand, when the only thing Mikleo had done had been fall to his knees.

With a shudder, Mikleo stepped into the warm water of the tub, steam rising around him. He sat down in the cramped space, feeling his muscles tense and relax at the temperature, his feet sliding until they collided against the end of the tub. It wasn’t the baths of the Academy, but as the water sloshed and overflowed over the rim of the tub, Mikleo was grateful it wasn’t.

He didn’t think he could handle being touched now. The marks on his body were his and his alone, the tender skin and the anger underneath only his to learn in depth.

Half-submerged in the water, Mikleo thought of Sorey, up on the rooftop of the Academy. His gentle hands hadn’t even brushed his skin, but they had kept him close by the pull on his veil. Mikleo thought of the pressure of Sorey’s mouth on his, how the thin fabric did nothing to keep away the warmth, the tender strength behind his lips.

He imagined Sorey pressing those same lips to the cut on his cheek; and, for a moment, the angry skin didn’t sting at all.

Then Mikleo slid down in the tub, until the water covered him up to the top of his head.

And only then, did Mikleo allow itself to let go.

 

* * *

 

Mikleo stayed there until the water turned cold and dark. There wasn’t shampoo or body wash, none of the fancy gels that he was so fond of back in the Academy baths. There was just a thick brick of soap, a new one, that Mikleo used on his whole body gratefully, hair included.

The black lines didn’t dissolve away in the water, no matter how much they looked like ink. Mikleo scrubbed at them with force, nails digging into the soft soap, only to move over them gently once he realized there was no getting rid of them. He washed himself with the cold water, getting up to rinse himself as well as he could, and soon getting out so as not to stay on the dirty water too long.

His hair fell against his cheeks, wet and straight. There was only one towel for him to dry with, so he reached back into the folds of his _sumari_ to find one of the beaded threads, yanking it out with care. With the single towel wrapped around his waist, Mikleo used the beaded thread to keep some of the longer strands of his hair up, making a small, almost pathetic looking ponytail at the back of his neck.

He sighed. At least he wouldn’t drip everywhere now.

Then, he reached for his new clothes. He picked them up, surprised at how thin and light they felt in his hands, and it took Mikleo a moment to understand _why_ they were like that, why the fabric was almost rough against his fingertips.

They hadn’t given him a clean _sumari_ to wear. Mikleo was holding bath boy clothes _._

The Academy didn’t officially have servants living in the premises, but the bath boys, bath girls, were little more than that. They wore thin, white clothes to be distinguished from the mages, with no layers or jewelry weighing down on their bodies. Mikleo had never stopped to really look at their outfits, but there was no mistaking what he was holding. Two light pieces, a shirt and a pair of pants adjustable by a piece of rope, all of it a dirty shade of white.

Mikleo pursed his lips, but forbid himself to say or make any sound about it. He slipped the garments on his body, tightening the rope over his slim waist, and angling the v-neck of the shirt so it didn’t fall too low.

He was still barefoot when he left the bathroom, _sumari_ forgotten behind in a broken, dirty pile.

His eyes felt puffy, and the skin around them tight, as he made his way back to the main room. He wasn’t sure how long he had stayed in the tub, but the room was a nice temperature, the sun that kept pouring in through the window having warmed the rough stone by now. Mikleo stood in the middle of the room, suddenly confused. He didn’t know what to do next. There was absolutely nothing for him to do, nothing to read, nothing to write on. It was just him, a bed, and his thoughts.

Thoughts that he had tried to drown back in the tub, under the soap and the warm water, but that had clung to Mikleo like obstinate ticks.

He had too many questions in his head, and no answers. Some questions sent shivers down his spine, made anguish crawl up his throat so he pressed them down for now, hid them under other matters that he could concentrate on. Mikleo had lost consciousness back on the Meadow, and had woken up in a foreign room in the middle of seemingly nowhere. But little clues, and Mikleo’s own observational abilities, had told him he couldn’t be far from the Academy. So he had been pushed away after trying to save Sorey and losing his magic in the process.

The repercussions of his friendship with Sorey, were it to be discovered, had always hovered over Mikleo’s mind. But he had always thought he would be expelled from the Academy in the worst case scenario, left to roam the streets of the world without an earthpulse point to channel his power through, without a meaning for his life.

He had never imagined this; being locked in a room with nothing to do.

Though, if they were to strip his life of sense—wasn’t this the best method? Let Mikleo waste away in his loneliness?

Mikleo didn’t know.

He needed someone to tell him. Someone to demand answers from.

As the hours passed by, Mikleo’s agitation only grew. No one came to take the tray away, or deliver more food. It wasn’t midday yet, judging by the position of the sun, but it was clear Mikleo wouldn’t be getting five meals a day. He tried to remember when the child mage had come, but he couldn’t for the life of him. Had it been night time, or simply clouded? Had it been about to break dawn, or had the sun just set?

Mikleo let himself fall on the chair by the desk, shaking his head. Working himself up did him no good, and he couldn’t spend his days wallowing in the bathtub. He needed to think, keep his mind clear, and find out what would happen from now on.

If that meant pushing away every other thought, then so be it.

Mikleo moved his fingertips over the wood of the desk, finding faint nicks under the dust. This was a well-used desk, alright. Someone had written on top of it, a lot, probably in thin sheets of paper that let the wood underneath register whatever was being written. The lines superposed ones over the others, so Mikleo couldn’t read what had been written, but that didn’t stop him from running his fingers over them time and time again.

An elevated place among a forest. Far enough from the Academy that he couldn’t hear the bells, but close enough to be at a walking distance—

Footsteps. Mikleo’s head snapped up, his whole body getting tense at the sound. But he didn’t jump on it immediately. Instead, Mikleo walked slowly towards the door, his naked feet soundless on the stony floor, until he reached the door.

He waited until the footsteps came to a stop at the other side. Then Mikleo spoke, as calmly and as innocent as he could make his voice sound. “Hello?”

There was no answer. Mikleo frowned, straining to hear something, but there was no sign of anyone being at the other side. He felt the need to try the doorknob, his arm even twitching at his side, but Mikleo kept it still by willpower alone. He shuffled closer, rising his voice a bit, but keeping it gentle. “Is someone there?”

The sweet scent of magic reached him almost immediately. Mikleo jumped back, the room still in silence, but the magic followed him. It wrapped itself around him like a cocoon, a warm blanket, pulling Mikleo to the realm of sleep with a soft song against his ear, and a sweet aftertaste in his mouth.

They were going to put him to sleep again, without a word this time.

Mikleo shook his head against it, and threw himself at the locked door.

“Please, wait!” He exclaimed, remembering a second too late his intention of sounding non-threatening. “Please. I just—I need to know what is going on. Why am I here?”

For a long moment, Mikleo thought he wouldn’t get an answer. But the magic didn’t rise up around him, either. It just coiled around him, licking at his ankles, at the skin of his wrists. Mikleo felt sleep pulling at the back of his mind, but he could fight it off.

For now.

“Please,” Mikleo tried again; his voice was so soft that he doubted it reached the person at the other side.

But it did. “…You committed taboo, Lord Mikleo,” the voice at the other side sounded rough, strange. Distorted with magic. “That is why you are here.”

“Taboo…? What taboo, I do not—“

“The marks on your body,” the mage continued. The magic didn’t only affect the sound of their voice, but their cadence. It was like listening to a tin can speak, with no emotions coating their words. “They speak of a magic so ancient there are no longer records of it. But the meaning stays with the mages; has stayed for centuries.”

“What…” Mikleo swallowed, licking his chapped lips. “What meaning?”

“Taboo,” the mage simply said. “You have been marked by your sins, Lord Mikleo.”

Beyond the pain, beyond the need to sleep, Mikleo felt anger rise up to choke him. Anger so fiery, he suddenly felt like he was burning. “Sins?” Mikleo spat, glaring at the door. “I tried to save someone I _love_. How is that a sin!? How could that ever be taboo—!?”

“Because you are not supposed to love one person, Lord Mikleo,” Again, the mage’s voice sounded impassive, but the weight behind their words rendered Mikleo speechless. “Your love should be for the Kingdom. You were _selfish_. And that selfishness painted sins on your skin.”

Mikleo reeled further back at that, as if he had been hit. He had forgotten. He had been so caught up in losing Sorey’s light, that he had forgotten the maxim of the mages. Born for their kingdom—and for their kingdom, they shall die.

But instead, Mikleo had chosen one person over the rest, giving himself to the point of losing his magic, to the point of showing his sins to the world.

How could have he forgotten what he had been preaching for _years_ …?

“I…”

“…I am sorry, Lord Mikleo.”

He could feel it again. The grief, looming over his mind, over his heart, closing in on him at a vertiginous speed. He would have been the next seraph; his magic had been strong enough to make the King stop by him in the middle of a parade, enough to receive the kind words of his elders. He had been the next in line to hold a wake over the kingdom, and be a guiding light for the rest of the mages in their quest to protect their home. And he would have been good. Young and passionate and powerful.

But Mikleo had given it all up for a single soul. A beautiful, luminous soul, yes. But still only one.

Mikleo _had_ been selfish. So, so selfish…

Silent tears spilled over the rim of Mikleo’s eyes. But he was so used to them by now that he made no movement to wipe them away.

“One more question,” he said, he begged, and continued on before the mage at the other side could stop him. “Is—Is it true that… that none of the knights from the north came home? Not one?”

The mage sighed. If he was surprised by Mikleo’s question, his magic hid it from Mikleo. “Yes. The King made a public statement about what had happened. We wear their loses with us, deep in our hearts. May they find peace at the other side.”

The scripted line for the knights’ souls made Mikleo’s heart twist. Not long ago, he would have said the same thing. But this time, it was different. It was _Sorey,_ it was his _brothers and sisters_. He couldn’t muster that same detached feeling now. “Were you there?” Mikleo asked, looking at his feet. Suddenly, lifting his head up felt like too much effort. “In the Meadow. That day.”

A brief second of silence. Then: “Yes. I was there.”

“Then you saw the King strike me, when I was at my lowest,” Mikleo said. Now, it was his voice that lacked any kind of emotion. “How can you speak so highly of him, when you saw him hit one of your own?”

The lapse of time before the mage’s answer was longer now, rougher. When it came, Mikleo felt the anguish consume his heart. “I was too concerned by the marks on your skin to even see the blood spilled, Lord Mikleo.”

Mikleo nodded. The funny thing —the heartbreaking thing—was that he understood. He understood completely.

Barely lifting his feet from the ground, Mikleo walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, keeping his head bowed all the way through. His hands clutched the side of the mattress, until the very tips of his fingertips started to hurt.

“…You may enter,” he said, and almost instantly, the sweet magic rose to bring him under.

A blink later, it was done.

Mikleo knew he hadn’t fallen asleep, but he didn’t see a thing, notice a thing. There was a new tray of food on the desk now, gently steaming through the thin napkin, and the faint scent of incense lingered in the air, a smell that had accompanied Mikleo throughout most of his life.

He had only been awake for a day, but he missed that smell already.

It was the smell of home.

 

* * *

 

The sun was setting, and he was still picking through the first tray of the day, when it happened.

It had been five days since waking up in that room. Five days to gather as much information as he could, five days to grief, and then pretend he wasn’t. Four days since he had spoken to anyone, because he didn’t try to speak to the mages that brought him his food anymore. Instead, he looked up at the sweetness of magic in the air, and managed to move himself somewhere comfortable before it took him down, where sleep claimed him.

He was starting to differentiate between the types of magic, though. There was the very weak magic of that first day, the child’s, that usually came to deliver the night’s food. It took the longest to have an effect on Mikleo, but it always did; it was a sign of Mikleo’s magic truly being gone. He wouldn’t even have felt a magic like this just a few weeks back.

The mage that came that second day, the one that had told Mikleo the little they knew about the taboo, didn’t come back. Instead, a mage of a magic similar in power came every morning, their footsteps so light that Mikleo didn’t hear them until they were already at the door. That mage’s magic felt stronger than the child’s, but Mikleo didn’t have the ability to tell just how much anymore. He didn’t have the reference point of his own magic. Still, he knew it had to be at the very least, a bronze mage.

He had a hard time imagining a green or a blue coming to deliver his food everyday, though. From the mage’s words that day, which had replayed on Mikleo’s mind again and again without a moment of rest, Mikleo knew he wasn’t exactly a martyr among his peers. He was the anomaly, the mage-gone-rogue.

They probably hated him. Feared him, even.

Whatever the case, it was justified.

Mikleo didn’t talk to the third mage, but learned to distinguish them by the way they suddenly made a sound at the door, not a knock, but still somehow announcing their presence. So when, at the fifth day of his staying there, Mikleo heard a thud resonate through the room, he snapped his eyes towards the door, surprised at the strange hour.

It was too early for food.

But the sound hadn’t come from the door. It had come from the window, a knock that had made the windowpane shake. Mikleo rose from the bed slowly and moved to the window, frowning as he walked. There was a stain on the glass, one that hadn’t been there before. When Mikleo reached the wall, his eyes opened wide in surprise.

It was blood.

The stain on the glass of the window was fresh blood.

Mikleo looked beyond, but there was nothing. He rushed to open the window and look, hoping to see someone somewhere— But there was nothing. Nothing except miles and miles of forest.

And Mikleo was too high up for anyone to throw things at his window—

There was a sound then, a rustle, like dry leaves being moved around, and Mikleo had the sudden need to look down. Not at the floor, nor at the forest, but right at the building’s wall, where the corbel sprouted out just out of reach of his window.

And there, right there, a lump laid precariously on the edge, threatening to fall over into the nothingness at the smallest of movements. The lump was dark with dried up blood in some parts, bright red from still fresh blood in others—but under all that crimson, under all that hurt, Mikleo’s eyes still registered feathers rustling in the breeze; scorched, but as golden and as vibrant as they were in Mikleo’s memory, sprouting from a strong, laid out wing.

Mikleo felt his heart stop beating in his chest.

“… _Mao—?”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left comments in the previous chapters!! They really give me the strength to continue writing <3<3 See you (hopefully) next chapter!!

**Author's Note:**

> More coming soon! Hope you're as excited as I am! <3<3


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